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Darkness Calling
This one's the prequel, slightly angsty for obvious reasons, and dedicated to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mechante_fille for equally obvious reasons. ;)
---
His heartbeat hammered in his chest, breath burning in his lungs as he ran, desperate to escape those he knew could not be far behind. They wouldn't be happy that he'd escaped their horrible prison. He'd done nothing wrong, but no one would ever speak up in his defense. No one would ever dare risk allying himself with a demon child.
Ciaran tripped, stumbling and nearly falling on the rough, uneven earth. Only the frantic knowledge that if he fell he'd be finished kept him on his feet, fleeing the town that had been his home for most of his young life. His thoughts strayed briefly to his mother, beautiful, gentle, loving, and his eyes burned with unshed tears as he knew in his heart he could never see her again.
She'd remained strong throughout the years, even as it had become obvious that her son was not as human as she. For so long she'd done what she could to protect him, keeping him safe and hidden, but it could never have lasted. Not when he knew they were just waiting for an excuse, waiting for her to go too far, and then not even her status as fully human would be able to protect her.
The beatings he'd gotten used to, even as each time he prayed it would be the last. He didn't think they'd broken any bones this last time, though his wrists ached where the heavy manacles had rested and the new scars on his back seared as his headlong flight pulled the barely-healed skin open. He could still feel the lash of the whip and the agonizing burn of the hot iron he'd endured from their hands.
He could never go back. Never go home. He'd run as far as he could, somewhere distant and alone where no one would ever see him or his too-bright hair and know what it meant. Cursed child. Demon child.
He bit back a cry as sharp branches bit at his skin as he passed them, leaving angry welts in reminder. Even the forest seemed to turn against him and for a moment he wondered if it wouldn't be better to simply give up. Surely death had to be better than this, even for a child of Darkness...
Ciaran shook his head, angry with himself for falling into despair. He'd never let them break him before; surely he would not allow it now that he was almost free. He put forth another burst of speed and changed his course slightly. This forest had long been forbidden to even the bravest of warriors. Surely, surely they wouldn't follow him here.
Yet he could hear the baying of the dogs in the distance and knew that even that hope was false. The faded legend of the dark forest was forgotten in the light of the certainty that was Ciaran's otherworldly blood.
He chanced a glance behind him and it was his undoing. His foot caught upon an exposed tree root and he fell hard, tumbling across the ground, picking up speed as the land took an abrupt dive downward. It was all he could do to protect his face from the stones and branches as he rolled down the steep hill, new bruises forming atop the old ones, new cuts opening up fresh wounds. When at last he reached the bottom he lay still for several long moments before sitting up, every muscle in his body protesting in agony the movement.
As he looked up he could see the hill, more like a cliff really, that he'd fallen down. Above was the forest, but around him was only barren earth. Ciaran turned slowly, mindful of his aching and battered body, staring at the sight before him.
In the middle of the barren land was a towering castle of dark stone and rusting iron. It sat in shadow, as though the weak winter light did not dare to touch it, looming with a menace that was almost palpable. He shivered, chilled. This was all that the dark forest was not. This, perhaps, was what the forbidden forest was guarding.
Getting unsteadily to his feet, abused muscles protesting every step, Ciaran slowly started walking toward the castle. Perhaps whoever lived in this place was hiding from the violence of humans as well. Perhaps they wouldn't mind one small, helpless boy. He was good at staying out of the way. Maybe the castle's lord would grant him sanctuary.
What could it hurt to ask? He had nothing left to lose.
A shallow, dry moat stood between him and the castle, traversable by an old, rotting bridge. He'd made it almost halfway across before a sharp cracking sound preceded the crumbling of the section he was standing on and Ciaran fell with a startled cry.
He landed roughly, seeing stars for a moment as he hit his head on the hard earth. He lay there for a moment to catch his breath before sitting up slowly and looking for the best place to climb out of the old, dry moat. Castles, he decided, should not have moats.
Several minutes later he managed to scramble up out of the moat and found himself facing a tall, thick, heavy iron gate. From the look of it no one had touched it in decades, so thickly encrusted with rust it was. He wondered if it would even open. Only one way to find out.
Reaching out determinedly, Ciaran laid a hand on the heavy gate. Before he could manage to gather his strength to push, the gate shuddered audibly and swung open on creaking hinges. Startled, Ciaran took a step back, nearly falling into the moat again and waving his arms wildly to prevent it. When he regained his footing he stared at the wide-open gate for a long moment before drawing in a deep breath.
Magic. There was magic here. He should have expected that, given the castle's location deep in the forbidden forest. Doubt niggled at him momentarily, for what use would the lord of a magical castle have for one such as him? Still, he had nowhere else to go. He would simply have to convince the lord to let him stay.
Decision reaffirmed, Ciaran walked slowly through the iron gates into the desolate courtyard. Like the gate itself, it was in a state of woeful decay. He could see where once it must have been splendid in its beauty, but now the plants and trees had been allowed to run wild, destroying the cobbled walkways and encroaching even on the wide main pathway. Much of the greenery appeared to be dead or dying, and there were old, tattered cobwebs everywhere.
He wondered why no one came out to take care of it. A moment later he got at least part of his answer as three lean, hungry wolves appeared from beyond the brush, snarling as they scented Ciaran. Like the rest of the courtyard, they looked half dead, their ribs plainly visible through their scruffy pelts.
"Oh," he breathed quietly, tears once more pricking at his eyes, "Does no one feed you?"
The wolves hesitated, clearly confused as their prey did not run. Rather, it stepped forward, toward them, reaching out to softly stroke the ragged fur of their heads. This was not how prey behaved. This was not how anything behaved.
"I wish I had food to feed you with, little ones," Ciaran whispered, petting the two closest wolves while the third regarded him in obvious confusion, "But I have not even food for myself. I am so sorry..."
Though highly bewildered, the wolves allowed themselves to be petted, taking turns shoving each other out of the way so that each could get as much time as possible beneath that comforting touch. At last, with some regret, Ciaran stood.
"I would stay with you little ones, but I must go inside now to find your master. Perhaps he will tell me where there is food that I might feed you with," he told them, giving each one last scratch behind the ears before turning and walking up to the great oaken doors of the castle itself. The wolves followed him that far, dropping down onto their haunches to watch as he climbed the two massive steps to the doors and laid a hand upon them.
As with the gate, the doors gave a rumbling shudder beneath his touch and slowly swung open, revealing a long, dark, decrepit hallway. Several torches lined the walls, though only one was lit, and even that burned only feebly. Ruined tapestries hung in places, their colors too faded and threads too worn and frayed to make out what they had once depicted. The long carpet beneath his feet crumbled as he tread upon it, passing into dust in instants.
He made his way slowly, fearful of touching anything lest it too crumble beneath his hands. There were mirrors, cracked and clouded, small tables that leaned at an alarming angle, chandeliers thick with grime and missing all of their candles. He wondered why everything was in such a state of disrepair. Was the castle lord dead?
The corridor let out into a great wide hall with arching ceilings high overhead. Two zombies looked up at him curiously as he entered, shuffling over to stare at him for a moment before reaching out with their decaying hands to touch his arms and shoulders. It was difficult to make out the expressions on their faces, but he thought they almost appeared... awed.
A loud roar sounded, startling the zombies and causing Ciaran to jerk his head up and look around wildly to find the source of it. While he'd been distracted by the zombies an enormous troll had appeared, along with a goblin and two women who looked, like him, not quite human.
"Intruder," one screeched, her hands beginning to glow with a sickly power.
"Intruder," the other agreed, large bat-like wings sprouting from her back as she took a step forward. "Now you must die."
Ciaran's breath caught as his fear resurfaced and he took a step back. "No, wait, I only wished to-"
The roar of the troll cut off the rest of his explanation as it charged him. He ducked, dodging out of the way and ending up closer to the two women. "Wait," he tried again. "You do not understand..."
The one with the glowing hands hurled whatever magic she'd been holding at him, a sickening greenish light that made him ill just looking at it. Before it could reach him, however, one of the zombies shuffled out from behind him, taking the full brunt of the attack.
Silence fell across the room as everything stared at the zombie as it crumbled into dust, then at Ciaran in shock. Even the troll seemed confused, looking around slowly and scratching its head.
"How... what did you do?" the woman with the bat-wings asked haltingly.
"I did nothing," Ciaran said quietly, eyes bright with pain. "Why did you have to kill it?"
The two women exchanged uneasy glances as the goblin approached him cautiously and poked a knobby finger at his side. Its eyes widened and it took a step back, staring from Ciaran to the women and back again. Finally it skittered away, vanishing into a darkened hallway.
More confused than ever, the magic-wielding woman neared him carefully. She walked all the way around him for a moment before reaching out gingerly to touch him. Their hands met for only an instant before she jumped back as though burned, twisting to stare at her companion.
Slowly the bat-winged woman followed suit, coming close enough to tentatively lay her hand atop his. She started, though did not pull away, crimson eyes going wide. "How..." she started, then shook her head. "Who...?"
"My name is Ciaran," Ciaran told her softly, starting to feel incredibly confused by the strange reactions of the people in the castle. "I only came here to escape those who were hunting me. I mean you no harm..."
Both women backed away, unconsciously seeking out one another's hands as they stared wide-eyed at him, then with a brief shared look the one with the bat-wings scooped the other into her arms and flew away out one of the high windows. Ciaran watched the spot where they'd disappeared from view for a long moment, then turned to blink up at the equally bewildered troll.
"... so are you going to run away from me too?" he asked it. The troll blinked, looking around and spotting the second zombie before its gaze returned to Ciaran. With a tremendous thud, the troll sat down heavily on the floor and scratched its head. Ciaran smiled. "I know the feeling," he told it, turning in a slow circle to take in all the doors and hallways leading off the room.
"I don't suppose either of you has any idea how I get to wherever your master is?" he asked.
The troll stared at him uncomprehendingly. The zombie thought for a long moment, then reached out again to pet him. Ciaran smiled. "Never mind, I'll figure it out," he told them.
Upstairs, he decided, spotting a shabby, run-down staircase going up to a second-floor landing. The zombie followed him as far as the stairs, watching him blankly as he ascended them but not attempting to follow further. Ciaran didn't blame it. The staircase had probably been magnificent, once, but now had fallen into such a state that it had lost even the ruined beauty it must have once suggested.
Upon reaching the top, he hesitated again. There were three doorways, each equally foreboding. He picked one at random, brushing the cobwebs out of the way before proceeding through it.
It was colder here, and the faint scent of mildew clung to the walls and floor. He followed it until it curved, then he could see where a section of the castle had fallen away, leaving the corridor open to the elements. Obviously he could go no further that way.
Ciaran turned around, blinking as he discovered a horse staring back at him. Or rather, half of a horse. Its head and forequarters were a sleek, glossy black, but the further one looked toward its midsection the more the horse seemed to just fade away into nothing until at last there was nothing. The horse stamped one of its hooves soundlessly upon the stone floor and took a step closer.
"Hello," Ciaran greeted softly, wondering if this was some sort of ghost. Did horses have ghosts? "I don't suppose you have any idea where I'm going..."
The horse whinnied and tossed its head, all soundlessly, then stepped forward until they were only a few paces apart, staring at him challengingly. Ciaran regarded it for a long moment, then reached up to see if he could touch something that was only half there.
It was soft and sleek beneath his hand, though colder than any living thing he'd ever encountered before. It stood perfectly still as he stroked its head and nose, finally deigning to lower its head as he stepped closer so that he could tangle his fingers in its silken mane and scratch softly behind its ears. Even if it was only halfway real, it was still the most magnificent of its kind he'd ever seen and he told it so.
The horse's body shook slightly in a manner that felt suspiciously like laughter and it butted its head against Ciaran's chest, snorting silently. Ciaran laughed. "All right, so you already knew that. But then, I suppose you are not really a horse at all then, are you? You are to normal horses what a thoroughbred is to a donkey."
The horse's body shook again and it nodded, dark eyes obviously amused. "Well then, beautiful one, I don't suppose you would deign to show me the way to where I might find the master of this castle...?"
It regarded him silently for a long moment, almost measuringly, then lowered its head once in a single nod. It turned, pacing back down the hallway from whence Ciaran had come, hooves making not the slightest noise in passing. It should have been eerie. Instead it felt... right.
Back on the landing the half-horse selected a different doorway and Ciaran followed unhesitatingly. The hallway they passed down now was lavishly lined with expensive things, gold and jewels and statuary, all crammed so close together that the effect was rather nauseating rather than breathtaking. Whoever owned this castle, he obviously had no idea whatsoever how to decorate it, Ciaran decided.
The horse stopped before a set of ornate doors big enough for two trolls to walk through side by side and half again as tall. One was slightly ajar, about the width of a hand. Ciaran thanked the creature softly, then touched the door.
It hesitated a long moment, then very slowly swung outward with only the slightest sound. This part of the castle, apparently, was in far better condition than the rest. He stepped inside, blinking at the bright light after the dimness of the castle that his eyes had long ago adjusted to.
A throne room. It could be nothing else. There was a raised dais with a golden throne, velvet carpeting and draperies everywhere. Like the hallway leading to it, expensive clutter lined the room, making it look far more tacky than impressive. Ciaran struggled not to snort. He was hoping to impress this man, and laughing at his collection was not a good way to make friends.
He'd barely made it five paces in when there was a booming noise and a tall man appeared in the center of the room. His hair was the color of dried blood, slicked back flat against his head, and his eyes were a slightly brighter shade of red. He was dressed in elaborate finery, silks and jewels and gold everywhere. It must have been incredibly heavy to wear. Not to mention completely tasteless.
"Hello-" Ciaran started to say, though the man immediately cut him off.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my castle?" the man snapped, an odd energy crackling around his body. Ciaran was momentarily entranced by the sight of it before slowly dragging his attention back to the question.
"My name is Ciaran," he answered honestly, "And I was trying to escape the people who were hunting me when I accidentally stumbled across your castle. I apologize for trespassing, but I was hoping you might-"
Again, the man cut him off. "No one enters the Dark Lord Vennois's castle by chance," he sneered. "You're obviously no Hunter, so you must be a spy sent by another demon to try to ascertain my weaknesses."
Ciaran blinked. "Spy? No, I was running-"
"A foolish endeavour," Vennois announced haughtily. "I am the greatest of the Demon Lords on this insignificant world. I have no weaknesses."
"Would you just listen?" Ciaran snapped, patience finally running out. "I am getting very tired of people beating me and shooting at me and cutting me and setting their animals after me and all I wanted was somewhere to hide for a while and rest and instead you accuse me of being a spy for someone I have never met nor even heard of and I am not amused!"
The Dark Lord took a step back, eyes widening slightly as he stared at Ciaran. "You cannot be..." he uttered in shock. "They never leave the dark lands..."
Ciaran blinked again, some of his ire fading at the tone of Lord Vennois' words. "What?" he asked blankly.
Vennois' eyes narrowed. "No," he growled coldly, "I will not let even you destroy me, child of the dark fire. Your life ends here!"
Ciaran barely had time to duck before Vennois hurled something at him that looked suspiciously like black flames, rolling out of the way and coming back up defensively. "Did you not hear anything I have said?" he demanded, temper flaring again. "I have no wish to destroy you or do anything to you! All I am seeking is some place in which I can take sanctuary!"
His words fell upon deaf ears, as the Dark Lord had already made his decision and was beyond reasoning with. Ciaran didn't understand why everyone who met him always seemed to want to hurt him. Why nothing could be solved without violence. It wasn't fair. He was going to die simply because some stupid demon lord wouldn't listen and had mistaken him for something he was not.
He didn't want to die.
He wasn't going to die.
When the next attack came, he was ready. He watched dispassionately as the magic dissipated before ever reaching him, reaching out and shaping it to his own purposes. It came willingly, easily; he knew exactly what to do, though he'd never done anything like it before. Something had awoken deep within him, something he'd always had but hadn't known how to reach before.
Now, it was all perfectly clear. Ciaran finished the spell, casting it out to wrap around the horrified Dark Lord like a sinuous serpent. A moment later Vennois fell to the floor.
Ciaran blinked once as though coming out of a daze, then walked slowly to where the demon lord had fallen, looking down. "I will not kill you," he said softly, "But I have no idea what I am going to do with you..."
He looked up, gaze falling upon the black half-horse that still stood in the doorway, watching. A faint smile touched his lips and he held out a hand toward it. "I understand now," he murmured as the half-horse approached. "You are a Nightmare, are you not?"
The Nightmare whickered silently and tossed its head, then leaned down to nudge the unconscious dark lord with its nose.
"Yes," Ciaran agreed, "He needs to be kept where he cannot cause any harm, but..." He broke off, looking thoughtfully at the nightmare. "Hmm, perhaps you would be willing to help me, lovely?"
The nightmare cocked its head at him, considering, then nodded once. Ciaran summoned up the spell he needed, casting it out over Vennois' prone body. "Sleep," he murmured softly. "Sleep for time eternal, in a dream from which you will never awaken. Never again will you harm an innocent soul."
A crystalline coffin materialized around Vennois's body, completely encasing him before disappearing to a place where he would remain undisturbed for the rest of time. When it was done Ciaran looked around slowly, a flicker of movement up high catching his gaze.
It was one of the women from before. The witch, he now realized. She floated slowly down on her broomstick, dismounting daintily and bowing lowly to him. "Master," she acknowledged.
Ciaran smiled. "Ciaran is fine..." He reached out and touched the end of her broom. "And that is really neat."
The witch blinked. "It is only a simple broom spell," she replied, a bit wide-eyed, then her gaze softened and she held it out to him. "You can have it, if you wish."
It was Ciaran's turn to blink. "But it's yours..."
The witch laughed. "I can make another. As I said, it is a simple spell. But if it would please you, Master, I would gift it to you."
Ciaran smiled, taking the battered broom and holding it like the priceless gift it was. "Thank you," he said warmly. "What is your name?"
The witch blinked, once more caught off-guard. "Maria," she replied, voice colored by surprise. "My name is Maria."
Ciaran beamed, reaching out with his free hand to take hers. "Well then, Maria, maybe you would like to show me around the castle, as it appears as though I shall be staying here for the indeterminate future." He paused. "And please, call me Ciaran."
Maria smiled. "Yes, Master."
Ciaran hid a laugh. Oh well. He'd tried.
Several weeks later the bat-winged woman, who he'd later learned was a succubus named Michelle, came zooming into the library where he was attempting to convince the books that they were new. It was very slow going, as Lord Vennois had allowed everything to deteriorate for so long.
"Master!" Michelle called, swooping down, "Come quickly! Outside, there is a man..."
Ciaran looked up, blinking as the agitated woman flittered back and forth overhead. "Calm down, Michelle," he ordered. "What man?"
The succubus shook her head. "A man, but not a man. Come, please."
Frowning, Ciaran called Maria's broomstick to him and seated himself, following Michelle out the high windows and looping around to the front of the castle. Standing in the courtyard, looking thoughtfully up at the castle was man all in black from head to toe from his hair to his skin to the glorious black feathered wings emerging from his back.
Michelle remained aloft while Ciaran landed, the dark man turning to look at him curiously. "You..." he said thoughtfully. "You are the one that I sensed..."
"I am Ciaran," Ciaran responded, having the odd feeling that he should know this man-creature.
The black man contemplated him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "My name is Karai. I am... an outcast, of sorts, forgotten by time. If you would allow me to take refuge here, I would give you my allegiance."
Ciaran blinked. "You do not need to give me anything, Karai," he replied, smiling softly. "All creatures are welcome here, so long as they do not harm any others under my protection. As this place has become my sanctuary, so too shall it be a refuge for all those without a place of their own to call home."
Karai considered again, dark eyes unreadable, then slowly a smile spread across his sharp features. "I would be honored if you would allow me into your home, Master."
Ciaran sighed, still smiling. He was obviously going to have to work on that. "Welcome home, Karai."
mechante_fille for equally obvious reasons. ;)---
His heartbeat hammered in his chest, breath burning in his lungs as he ran, desperate to escape those he knew could not be far behind. They wouldn't be happy that he'd escaped their horrible prison. He'd done nothing wrong, but no one would ever speak up in his defense. No one would ever dare risk allying himself with a demon child.
Ciaran tripped, stumbling and nearly falling on the rough, uneven earth. Only the frantic knowledge that if he fell he'd be finished kept him on his feet, fleeing the town that had been his home for most of his young life. His thoughts strayed briefly to his mother, beautiful, gentle, loving, and his eyes burned with unshed tears as he knew in his heart he could never see her again.
She'd remained strong throughout the years, even as it had become obvious that her son was not as human as she. For so long she'd done what she could to protect him, keeping him safe and hidden, but it could never have lasted. Not when he knew they were just waiting for an excuse, waiting for her to go too far, and then not even her status as fully human would be able to protect her.
The beatings he'd gotten used to, even as each time he prayed it would be the last. He didn't think they'd broken any bones this last time, though his wrists ached where the heavy manacles had rested and the new scars on his back seared as his headlong flight pulled the barely-healed skin open. He could still feel the lash of the whip and the agonizing burn of the hot iron he'd endured from their hands.
He could never go back. Never go home. He'd run as far as he could, somewhere distant and alone where no one would ever see him or his too-bright hair and know what it meant. Cursed child. Demon child.
He bit back a cry as sharp branches bit at his skin as he passed them, leaving angry welts in reminder. Even the forest seemed to turn against him and for a moment he wondered if it wouldn't be better to simply give up. Surely death had to be better than this, even for a child of Darkness...
Ciaran shook his head, angry with himself for falling into despair. He'd never let them break him before; surely he would not allow it now that he was almost free. He put forth another burst of speed and changed his course slightly. This forest had long been forbidden to even the bravest of warriors. Surely, surely they wouldn't follow him here.
Yet he could hear the baying of the dogs in the distance and knew that even that hope was false. The faded legend of the dark forest was forgotten in the light of the certainty that was Ciaran's otherworldly blood.
He chanced a glance behind him and it was his undoing. His foot caught upon an exposed tree root and he fell hard, tumbling across the ground, picking up speed as the land took an abrupt dive downward. It was all he could do to protect his face from the stones and branches as he rolled down the steep hill, new bruises forming atop the old ones, new cuts opening up fresh wounds. When at last he reached the bottom he lay still for several long moments before sitting up, every muscle in his body protesting in agony the movement.
As he looked up he could see the hill, more like a cliff really, that he'd fallen down. Above was the forest, but around him was only barren earth. Ciaran turned slowly, mindful of his aching and battered body, staring at the sight before him.
In the middle of the barren land was a towering castle of dark stone and rusting iron. It sat in shadow, as though the weak winter light did not dare to touch it, looming with a menace that was almost palpable. He shivered, chilled. This was all that the dark forest was not. This, perhaps, was what the forbidden forest was guarding.
Getting unsteadily to his feet, abused muscles protesting every step, Ciaran slowly started walking toward the castle. Perhaps whoever lived in this place was hiding from the violence of humans as well. Perhaps they wouldn't mind one small, helpless boy. He was good at staying out of the way. Maybe the castle's lord would grant him sanctuary.
What could it hurt to ask? He had nothing left to lose.
A shallow, dry moat stood between him and the castle, traversable by an old, rotting bridge. He'd made it almost halfway across before a sharp cracking sound preceded the crumbling of the section he was standing on and Ciaran fell with a startled cry.
He landed roughly, seeing stars for a moment as he hit his head on the hard earth. He lay there for a moment to catch his breath before sitting up slowly and looking for the best place to climb out of the old, dry moat. Castles, he decided, should not have moats.
Several minutes later he managed to scramble up out of the moat and found himself facing a tall, thick, heavy iron gate. From the look of it no one had touched it in decades, so thickly encrusted with rust it was. He wondered if it would even open. Only one way to find out.
Reaching out determinedly, Ciaran laid a hand on the heavy gate. Before he could manage to gather his strength to push, the gate shuddered audibly and swung open on creaking hinges. Startled, Ciaran took a step back, nearly falling into the moat again and waving his arms wildly to prevent it. When he regained his footing he stared at the wide-open gate for a long moment before drawing in a deep breath.
Magic. There was magic here. He should have expected that, given the castle's location deep in the forbidden forest. Doubt niggled at him momentarily, for what use would the lord of a magical castle have for one such as him? Still, he had nowhere else to go. He would simply have to convince the lord to let him stay.
Decision reaffirmed, Ciaran walked slowly through the iron gates into the desolate courtyard. Like the gate itself, it was in a state of woeful decay. He could see where once it must have been splendid in its beauty, but now the plants and trees had been allowed to run wild, destroying the cobbled walkways and encroaching even on the wide main pathway. Much of the greenery appeared to be dead or dying, and there were old, tattered cobwebs everywhere.
He wondered why no one came out to take care of it. A moment later he got at least part of his answer as three lean, hungry wolves appeared from beyond the brush, snarling as they scented Ciaran. Like the rest of the courtyard, they looked half dead, their ribs plainly visible through their scruffy pelts.
"Oh," he breathed quietly, tears once more pricking at his eyes, "Does no one feed you?"
The wolves hesitated, clearly confused as their prey did not run. Rather, it stepped forward, toward them, reaching out to softly stroke the ragged fur of their heads. This was not how prey behaved. This was not how anything behaved.
"I wish I had food to feed you with, little ones," Ciaran whispered, petting the two closest wolves while the third regarded him in obvious confusion, "But I have not even food for myself. I am so sorry..."
Though highly bewildered, the wolves allowed themselves to be petted, taking turns shoving each other out of the way so that each could get as much time as possible beneath that comforting touch. At last, with some regret, Ciaran stood.
"I would stay with you little ones, but I must go inside now to find your master. Perhaps he will tell me where there is food that I might feed you with," he told them, giving each one last scratch behind the ears before turning and walking up to the great oaken doors of the castle itself. The wolves followed him that far, dropping down onto their haunches to watch as he climbed the two massive steps to the doors and laid a hand upon them.
As with the gate, the doors gave a rumbling shudder beneath his touch and slowly swung open, revealing a long, dark, decrepit hallway. Several torches lined the walls, though only one was lit, and even that burned only feebly. Ruined tapestries hung in places, their colors too faded and threads too worn and frayed to make out what they had once depicted. The long carpet beneath his feet crumbled as he tread upon it, passing into dust in instants.
He made his way slowly, fearful of touching anything lest it too crumble beneath his hands. There were mirrors, cracked and clouded, small tables that leaned at an alarming angle, chandeliers thick with grime and missing all of their candles. He wondered why everything was in such a state of disrepair. Was the castle lord dead?
The corridor let out into a great wide hall with arching ceilings high overhead. Two zombies looked up at him curiously as he entered, shuffling over to stare at him for a moment before reaching out with their decaying hands to touch his arms and shoulders. It was difficult to make out the expressions on their faces, but he thought they almost appeared... awed.
A loud roar sounded, startling the zombies and causing Ciaran to jerk his head up and look around wildly to find the source of it. While he'd been distracted by the zombies an enormous troll had appeared, along with a goblin and two women who looked, like him, not quite human.
"Intruder," one screeched, her hands beginning to glow with a sickly power.
"Intruder," the other agreed, large bat-like wings sprouting from her back as she took a step forward. "Now you must die."
Ciaran's breath caught as his fear resurfaced and he took a step back. "No, wait, I only wished to-"
The roar of the troll cut off the rest of his explanation as it charged him. He ducked, dodging out of the way and ending up closer to the two women. "Wait," he tried again. "You do not understand..."
The one with the glowing hands hurled whatever magic she'd been holding at him, a sickening greenish light that made him ill just looking at it. Before it could reach him, however, one of the zombies shuffled out from behind him, taking the full brunt of the attack.
Silence fell across the room as everything stared at the zombie as it crumbled into dust, then at Ciaran in shock. Even the troll seemed confused, looking around slowly and scratching its head.
"How... what did you do?" the woman with the bat-wings asked haltingly.
"I did nothing," Ciaran said quietly, eyes bright with pain. "Why did you have to kill it?"
The two women exchanged uneasy glances as the goblin approached him cautiously and poked a knobby finger at his side. Its eyes widened and it took a step back, staring from Ciaran to the women and back again. Finally it skittered away, vanishing into a darkened hallway.
More confused than ever, the magic-wielding woman neared him carefully. She walked all the way around him for a moment before reaching out gingerly to touch him. Their hands met for only an instant before she jumped back as though burned, twisting to stare at her companion.
Slowly the bat-winged woman followed suit, coming close enough to tentatively lay her hand atop his. She started, though did not pull away, crimson eyes going wide. "How..." she started, then shook her head. "Who...?"
"My name is Ciaran," Ciaran told her softly, starting to feel incredibly confused by the strange reactions of the people in the castle. "I only came here to escape those who were hunting me. I mean you no harm..."
Both women backed away, unconsciously seeking out one another's hands as they stared wide-eyed at him, then with a brief shared look the one with the bat-wings scooped the other into her arms and flew away out one of the high windows. Ciaran watched the spot where they'd disappeared from view for a long moment, then turned to blink up at the equally bewildered troll.
"... so are you going to run away from me too?" he asked it. The troll blinked, looking around and spotting the second zombie before its gaze returned to Ciaran. With a tremendous thud, the troll sat down heavily on the floor and scratched its head. Ciaran smiled. "I know the feeling," he told it, turning in a slow circle to take in all the doors and hallways leading off the room.
"I don't suppose either of you has any idea how I get to wherever your master is?" he asked.
The troll stared at him uncomprehendingly. The zombie thought for a long moment, then reached out again to pet him. Ciaran smiled. "Never mind, I'll figure it out," he told them.
Upstairs, he decided, spotting a shabby, run-down staircase going up to a second-floor landing. The zombie followed him as far as the stairs, watching him blankly as he ascended them but not attempting to follow further. Ciaran didn't blame it. The staircase had probably been magnificent, once, but now had fallen into such a state that it had lost even the ruined beauty it must have once suggested.
Upon reaching the top, he hesitated again. There were three doorways, each equally foreboding. He picked one at random, brushing the cobwebs out of the way before proceeding through it.
It was colder here, and the faint scent of mildew clung to the walls and floor. He followed it until it curved, then he could see where a section of the castle had fallen away, leaving the corridor open to the elements. Obviously he could go no further that way.
Ciaran turned around, blinking as he discovered a horse staring back at him. Or rather, half of a horse. Its head and forequarters were a sleek, glossy black, but the further one looked toward its midsection the more the horse seemed to just fade away into nothing until at last there was nothing. The horse stamped one of its hooves soundlessly upon the stone floor and took a step closer.
"Hello," Ciaran greeted softly, wondering if this was some sort of ghost. Did horses have ghosts? "I don't suppose you have any idea where I'm going..."
The horse whinnied and tossed its head, all soundlessly, then stepped forward until they were only a few paces apart, staring at him challengingly. Ciaran regarded it for a long moment, then reached up to see if he could touch something that was only half there.
It was soft and sleek beneath his hand, though colder than any living thing he'd ever encountered before. It stood perfectly still as he stroked its head and nose, finally deigning to lower its head as he stepped closer so that he could tangle his fingers in its silken mane and scratch softly behind its ears. Even if it was only halfway real, it was still the most magnificent of its kind he'd ever seen and he told it so.
The horse's body shook slightly in a manner that felt suspiciously like laughter and it butted its head against Ciaran's chest, snorting silently. Ciaran laughed. "All right, so you already knew that. But then, I suppose you are not really a horse at all then, are you? You are to normal horses what a thoroughbred is to a donkey."
The horse's body shook again and it nodded, dark eyes obviously amused. "Well then, beautiful one, I don't suppose you would deign to show me the way to where I might find the master of this castle...?"
It regarded him silently for a long moment, almost measuringly, then lowered its head once in a single nod. It turned, pacing back down the hallway from whence Ciaran had come, hooves making not the slightest noise in passing. It should have been eerie. Instead it felt... right.
Back on the landing the half-horse selected a different doorway and Ciaran followed unhesitatingly. The hallway they passed down now was lavishly lined with expensive things, gold and jewels and statuary, all crammed so close together that the effect was rather nauseating rather than breathtaking. Whoever owned this castle, he obviously had no idea whatsoever how to decorate it, Ciaran decided.
The horse stopped before a set of ornate doors big enough for two trolls to walk through side by side and half again as tall. One was slightly ajar, about the width of a hand. Ciaran thanked the creature softly, then touched the door.
It hesitated a long moment, then very slowly swung outward with only the slightest sound. This part of the castle, apparently, was in far better condition than the rest. He stepped inside, blinking at the bright light after the dimness of the castle that his eyes had long ago adjusted to.
A throne room. It could be nothing else. There was a raised dais with a golden throne, velvet carpeting and draperies everywhere. Like the hallway leading to it, expensive clutter lined the room, making it look far more tacky than impressive. Ciaran struggled not to snort. He was hoping to impress this man, and laughing at his collection was not a good way to make friends.
He'd barely made it five paces in when there was a booming noise and a tall man appeared in the center of the room. His hair was the color of dried blood, slicked back flat against his head, and his eyes were a slightly brighter shade of red. He was dressed in elaborate finery, silks and jewels and gold everywhere. It must have been incredibly heavy to wear. Not to mention completely tasteless.
"Hello-" Ciaran started to say, though the man immediately cut him off.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my castle?" the man snapped, an odd energy crackling around his body. Ciaran was momentarily entranced by the sight of it before slowly dragging his attention back to the question.
"My name is Ciaran," he answered honestly, "And I was trying to escape the people who were hunting me when I accidentally stumbled across your castle. I apologize for trespassing, but I was hoping you might-"
Again, the man cut him off. "No one enters the Dark Lord Vennois's castle by chance," he sneered. "You're obviously no Hunter, so you must be a spy sent by another demon to try to ascertain my weaknesses."
Ciaran blinked. "Spy? No, I was running-"
"A foolish endeavour," Vennois announced haughtily. "I am the greatest of the Demon Lords on this insignificant world. I have no weaknesses."
"Would you just listen?" Ciaran snapped, patience finally running out. "I am getting very tired of people beating me and shooting at me and cutting me and setting their animals after me and all I wanted was somewhere to hide for a while and rest and instead you accuse me of being a spy for someone I have never met nor even heard of and I am not amused!"
The Dark Lord took a step back, eyes widening slightly as he stared at Ciaran. "You cannot be..." he uttered in shock. "They never leave the dark lands..."
Ciaran blinked again, some of his ire fading at the tone of Lord Vennois' words. "What?" he asked blankly.
Vennois' eyes narrowed. "No," he growled coldly, "I will not let even you destroy me, child of the dark fire. Your life ends here!"
Ciaran barely had time to duck before Vennois hurled something at him that looked suspiciously like black flames, rolling out of the way and coming back up defensively. "Did you not hear anything I have said?" he demanded, temper flaring again. "I have no wish to destroy you or do anything to you! All I am seeking is some place in which I can take sanctuary!"
His words fell upon deaf ears, as the Dark Lord had already made his decision and was beyond reasoning with. Ciaran didn't understand why everyone who met him always seemed to want to hurt him. Why nothing could be solved without violence. It wasn't fair. He was going to die simply because some stupid demon lord wouldn't listen and had mistaken him for something he was not.
He didn't want to die.
He wasn't going to die.
When the next attack came, he was ready. He watched dispassionately as the magic dissipated before ever reaching him, reaching out and shaping it to his own purposes. It came willingly, easily; he knew exactly what to do, though he'd never done anything like it before. Something had awoken deep within him, something he'd always had but hadn't known how to reach before.
Now, it was all perfectly clear. Ciaran finished the spell, casting it out to wrap around the horrified Dark Lord like a sinuous serpent. A moment later Vennois fell to the floor.
Ciaran blinked once as though coming out of a daze, then walked slowly to where the demon lord had fallen, looking down. "I will not kill you," he said softly, "But I have no idea what I am going to do with you..."
He looked up, gaze falling upon the black half-horse that still stood in the doorway, watching. A faint smile touched his lips and he held out a hand toward it. "I understand now," he murmured as the half-horse approached. "You are a Nightmare, are you not?"
The Nightmare whickered silently and tossed its head, then leaned down to nudge the unconscious dark lord with its nose.
"Yes," Ciaran agreed, "He needs to be kept where he cannot cause any harm, but..." He broke off, looking thoughtfully at the nightmare. "Hmm, perhaps you would be willing to help me, lovely?"
The nightmare cocked its head at him, considering, then nodded once. Ciaran summoned up the spell he needed, casting it out over Vennois' prone body. "Sleep," he murmured softly. "Sleep for time eternal, in a dream from which you will never awaken. Never again will you harm an innocent soul."
A crystalline coffin materialized around Vennois's body, completely encasing him before disappearing to a place where he would remain undisturbed for the rest of time. When it was done Ciaran looked around slowly, a flicker of movement up high catching his gaze.
It was one of the women from before. The witch, he now realized. She floated slowly down on her broomstick, dismounting daintily and bowing lowly to him. "Master," she acknowledged.
Ciaran smiled. "Ciaran is fine..." He reached out and touched the end of her broom. "And that is really neat."
The witch blinked. "It is only a simple broom spell," she replied, a bit wide-eyed, then her gaze softened and she held it out to him. "You can have it, if you wish."
It was Ciaran's turn to blink. "But it's yours..."
The witch laughed. "I can make another. As I said, it is a simple spell. But if it would please you, Master, I would gift it to you."
Ciaran smiled, taking the battered broom and holding it like the priceless gift it was. "Thank you," he said warmly. "What is your name?"
The witch blinked, once more caught off-guard. "Maria," she replied, voice colored by surprise. "My name is Maria."
Ciaran beamed, reaching out with his free hand to take hers. "Well then, Maria, maybe you would like to show me around the castle, as it appears as though I shall be staying here for the indeterminate future." He paused. "And please, call me Ciaran."
Maria smiled. "Yes, Master."
Ciaran hid a laugh. Oh well. He'd tried.
Several weeks later the bat-winged woman, who he'd later learned was a succubus named Michelle, came zooming into the library where he was attempting to convince the books that they were new. It was very slow going, as Lord Vennois had allowed everything to deteriorate for so long.
"Master!" Michelle called, swooping down, "Come quickly! Outside, there is a man..."
Ciaran looked up, blinking as the agitated woman flittered back and forth overhead. "Calm down, Michelle," he ordered. "What man?"
The succubus shook her head. "A man, but not a man. Come, please."
Frowning, Ciaran called Maria's broomstick to him and seated himself, following Michelle out the high windows and looping around to the front of the castle. Standing in the courtyard, looking thoughtfully up at the castle was man all in black from head to toe from his hair to his skin to the glorious black feathered wings emerging from his back.
Michelle remained aloft while Ciaran landed, the dark man turning to look at him curiously. "You..." he said thoughtfully. "You are the one that I sensed..."
"I am Ciaran," Ciaran responded, having the odd feeling that he should know this man-creature.
The black man contemplated him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "My name is Karai. I am... an outcast, of sorts, forgotten by time. If you would allow me to take refuge here, I would give you my allegiance."
Ciaran blinked. "You do not need to give me anything, Karai," he replied, smiling softly. "All creatures are welcome here, so long as they do not harm any others under my protection. As this place has become my sanctuary, so too shall it be a refuge for all those without a place of their own to call home."
Karai considered again, dark eyes unreadable, then slowly a smile spread across his sharp features. "I would be honored if you would allow me into your home, Master."
Ciaran sighed, still smiling. He was obviously going to have to work on that. "Welcome home, Karai."
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^___^ and the tidbit at the end with Karai is awesome. ::grin:: What does it mean, I wonder, that Karai would give his allegiance so willingly to Ciaran, being a fallen god and all. ^____^ (I'm assuming it has to do with the 'child of the dark fire' thing.)
aah, that's all i've got. So brain-dead.
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Poor Ciaran. I love how he just pushes through it all, until he gets to Vennois, and that's when he loses his temper with it all. *glomps him* The werewolves in the beginning were so.. ;______;
No seriously, I want to adopt them and snuggle them and gyah! *_*I like that you show through all the lesser dark creatures just how gentle Ciaran is and can be in spite of what he's been through up until that point.Gyah!! Okay, that was like the perfect thing to come home to today. *tackle glomps* You rock the universe. ^_________________^!!
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Ciaran is angstybleedingheartfluff. ^^; Total dork. *nod*
*glomp* Domo. ^^;;
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That was so great!!!! And I'm in it! My name and everything. D00d, I have a speaking part!!
Maria laughed at the idea of me as a succubus, after I explained what they were. I'm not exactly sure how to take that, actually... ^_^ Do I 'visit' men or women, do you think?
Also, love love Ciaran. So sweet and empathic, crying for the werewolves. And the zombie petting him?! Eieee! And I very very very much want a Nightmare. He can live in my yard. Or the house, if he wants. C'mere pretty boy!
Can't wait to see more, Kitty!!! You are a rock star! *squishes you tight*
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*LAUGH* I'm sure your witch keeps you plenty busy. *whistle*
Ciaran is a bleeding heart. ^^; And the Nightmare was love. But, really now, he? Nightmare? ^^; She, dearheart. ;)
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*smooches*
Hey, say hi to that boy for me, too. Yo Mikey! Where you be?
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Heh. He's been watching various box sets of tv shows. I can't even get him to read my stories. ¬ ¬ Silly boy. ^^;
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'The troll stared at him uncomprehendingly. The zombie thought for a long moment, then reached out again to pet him. Ciaran smiled. "Never mind, I'll figure it out," he told them. ' That was probably my favourite line, because I just loved the idea of him being petted by a zombie and not minding.
In spite of all the dark things that have happened to him, Ciaran's such a serene, light character, and I love it that you've managed to make that work.
My one confuslement - from reading the Darkness Falling section, it looked to me like Oliae came to the castle first, and rescued Karai from hunters before bringing him back, too, but here you have Karai's arrival all on his own. Was I just reading it wrong?
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^^;;; Oliae rescued Karai when Karai was out on one of his nighttime flights. Then he followed Karai back to the castle.
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Aha, that explains the whole Karai/Oliae thing. Thanks, 'twas confused.
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*grin* Sowwy. It wasn't real clear cause it was done in Karai's reminiscences, so... ^^;; My bad.
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What happen to his mother? The power he has had awoken so why didn't he go back after her? Is she dead?
Humans torture what they can't understand and fear but in the end he found peace and happiness.
This chapter is so sad but in the same time so beautiful.I love the happy ending.
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His mother was dead before the start of this story. That's why there's the line that he can 'never go home.' :(
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I know this is a stupid question.
But if they killed his mother didn't he at least teach them a little.Just to scare them a little?Was he present when she was killed?
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A soul does come back to earth, but she wouldn't remember him.
He wasn't there when she died, no.
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(Anonymous) 2010-03-12 06:05 pm (UTC)(link)no subject
Geekiness ATTACK
Also: SPICY RAVEN HEE! ('Karai' means 'spicy' in japanese, and I've been studying Japanese long enough that whenever I read his name, my mind processes it as 'spicy')
A friend of mine once had a universe that she called 'dark/twisted Alice in wonderland,' and this reminds me of that, a bit. I like it. It's interesting. There's...a kind of soft, sad almost hopeless feel to it in a way, not like someone who has given up all hope of anything, but like resignation in a way, but less specific? I can't describe it properly, but it's a bit wistful, I suppose, and lonely, and...as if there is nothing left to hope for, or you don't know what to hope for. I dunno. It's pretty, if a little sad.
Re: Geekiness ATTACK
Spicy, hah, well, maybe if Oliae riles him up... ^__^
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I see the name "Oliae" and I go: "French." effect of so many vowels in a row, I suppose. So now he is french in my head. It is amusing.