"Shadows of Karath-Sel ~Chapter One~" by Ly M. Frick

Chapter One: Ashen’s Orb

The sun shone brightly down on the lands of Lord Darcsha, the large golden orb highlighting the already yellowed wheat that waved about lazily, blown by a gentle, mid-morning breeze. If one listened hard enough, they could hear the chirrup of insects that dozed on the honey hued stocks of grass and the whisper of field mice foraging for early dropped kernels in the safety of the thick crop. It was a day to be content and lazy. The time for harvest was not yet upon the Lord’s wheat and it was nearing the mid-day meal. There would be cheerful talk amongst the farm hands about the fortunate weather as they paused to break their bread in their cozy lodgings built for them by the wealthy noble they labored for.

Even those in the Darcsha Manor would be noisy with conversation while they took their luncheon. During the summer the courts were alive with travelers who had taken advantage of the fair weather to journey to the King’s stronghold. They were welcomed with open arms by bored nobles who had not much else to do but order entertainment and be waited upon. One of the Darcsha’s daughters, the eldest of three, was no exception to that rule and would be making her wishes to go to court that evening heard.

There was a daughter, however, who was an exception. The youngest had no love for court, nor did it seem likely that she would ever gain one. She was a peculiar child as it was and simply would not fit into the ebb and flow of the courtly ways. She was a quiet girl, never raising her voice to be heard. She had no wish to be heard. She wanted nothing more to be left on her own, for the most part, to do as she wished without disturbance. She was granted her wish often enough as most found her too queer to be around for long periods of time. It wasn’t just her personality that dissuaded them from being social with her, but her appearance as well. She did not look as the other Darcsha daughters did.

Her eldest sister was a deep auburn-haired young lady with the blazing green eyes of her father. The second eldest was a darker-haired lass with those same jade orbs glowing from a thin, delicate face. The youngest had no color to her hair; it was stark white. Her locks lacked any pigmentation, a defect from birth that hadn’t left and that affected her eyes as well, leaving them instead of the deep purple of her mother’s eyes, a washed, pale color eerie to gaze into for any prolonged length of time. She had a creamy complexion that burned easily if she stayed too long in the sun, and a melancholy that hung in the air about her wherever she happened to go. Perhaps it was because she was viewed as an anomaly, or perhaps it was merely her way; either way, she was not a typical six-year-old.

Currently, she was sitting (slathered in a poultice to ward away the sun’s effects) in the warmth of the wheat fields, hidden by the tall stalks of golden grass that towered over the child’s head. She enjoyed the natural warmth that radiated down onto her, even though it tended to cause painful burns and days of discomfort. Though saw as a solitary girl, the child wasn’t alone in the wheat. Reclined beside her, lazily soaking up the heat as well, was a rattle snake.

It was a common rattlesnake, various shades of dusty brown. She was a good couple feet long to her rattle and bulging with a mass of snakelings. She hissed in proud contentment while the plain human-child gazed down at her fondly. A tiny, thin hand reached over to stroke a spot where the skin rippled, a tell-tale sign of the serpent’s pregnancy. The rattlesnake only shifted slightly to give the child a better feel of the writhing masses within.

The reply the child got wasn’t formed into words, but generalized emotions and mental images. Regardless of the form of communication she was sent, the child understood well enough that the snake was highly proud of her wriggling brood and would gloat on the number once they were born, even though the tiny serpents wouldn’t stay with her longer than a few seconds before slithering off to start their solitary lives. They were much like herself, the child thought sadly. On their own with no mother to look after them. Would they even remember their mothers?

The only thing that the child was comforted by was the fact that she could remember the woman the brought her into the world, if only vaguely. Her mother had died when she was quite a deal younger and only glimpses of the dark haired woman remained in the girl’s memory. She could recall her mother doing certain things; putting on her eye paints and lip paints, dusting her face with powder, laughing, singing... And falling. The child’s last memory of her mother was of the woman’s frozen expression as she fell suddenly from the girl’s site over the edge of the grand stairwell that graced the entryway of the Darcsha Manor.

A nudge at her hand called the child’s attention back to the serpent lounging beside her. Briefly, she saw an image of herself, followed by confusion and an added sense of sorrow. It was the snake’s equivalent of ‘what troubles you?’

The child shook her head and motioned into the distance where, towering a good four stories above the soil, her father’s Manor stood. It was dark to the child, and fairly foreboding. She did not care for her home much at all.

Bidding a fond farewell to the serpent, the child stood and brushed out her long, lavender-blue skirts attempting to be rid of any dust clinging to the breezy cotton material. Her father disapproved of her playing in the wheat fields, thinking she would become lost too easily. The girl thought it silly of her father to worry so much. She had told him before that the snakes would tell her how to get home if she ever lost site of the Manor. He had reprimanded her for being so foolish to think she could talk to animals. That was silly, too, she’d thought, though she didn’t voice it. She couldn’t speak with animals. Her ability was only with snakes and lizards for some reason. She didn’t understand why, but she was only a small child and her mind simply told her that she could do it because reptiles liked her more than they liked other people. After all, her family wasn’t magically inclined as no one in her bloodline ever showed much potential for the Art.

Hurrying through the wheat, keeping an ear open for her serpentine friends and her eyes on the darkly looming Manor before her, the girl bit her lip when she heard her father’s deep voice booming from the doorway:

“Ashenoko Annayi Ai’Celarisa Darcsha! Your presence is demanded immediately, Young Lady!”

Ashenoko (though she preferred the shortened ‘Ashen’) winced as her full named was called from the steps. She knew the trouble she would be in and, not for the first time, considered hiding in the wheat until he’d gone back inside. She was frightened of her father when he was in a mood, for it often lead to punishmental blows with his belt or, more commonly, his fists. She was spared the worst of these only because she was so slight, and barely out of toddler-hood.

Steeling herself and biting the inside of her cheek, Ashen crept out from the edge of the wheat and made her way quickly across the thick grass that cushioned the distance between the fields and the Manor. She could feel the eyes of her father bearing down on her as she hurried up the porch stairs and past him into the coolness of the dark house.

It took a moment for the little girl’s eyes to adjust to the dim interior and, as soon as they did, she turned to look up at Lord Darcsha, her expression much like a frightened hound who knew its master was not pleased. “Hi, Daddy,” she squeaked, attempting to brush a bit of dirt off of her skirts still.

“You are tardy and you are dirty,” he replied slowly, keeping himself in check much to Ashenoko’s relief. “Wash up and do not dawdle. Your sisters are hungry and you have kept them from eating.” His tone was still stern enough to cause Ashen to cringe and, as soon as he pointed up the grand staircase leading to the upper levels, the child was in motion, making her way up the flight as quickly as her skirts allowed.

Lord Darcsha watched his youngest scamper off and shook his head as he heaved a sigh. As much as he cared for his daughters, there was something not quite right about the last. Regardless that she was only a small child, she should know better than to continually disobey him. He didn’t enjoy punishing her the way he did, but it was how his father had punished him and the Lord had come out just fine in the end; in his mind, anyway.

Turning from the entryway, Lord Darcsha moved off toward the dining hall where his other, less impudent daughters awaited their midday meal. They would be no less happy with their sister and that might be punishment enough. Might. Perhaps he needed to be harder on her. Musing to himself, the Lord entered the dinning hall and took his seat, hand folded neatly in front of him on the linen tablecloth, eyes fixed on the empty plate before him.

* * *

Lord Darcsha’s elder daughters pointedly ignored their younger sibling as a late dinner was placed before them by stoic servants. Such treatment was fine with the child. She would rather they disregard her presence than berate her inability to arrive on time. Picking up her fork, Ashenoko picked at the fresh greens placed on her plate, not really interested in eating the salad. She only half listened as the eldest started her expected speech about the importance that she be at court to represent the Darcsha family name. The child didn’t roll her eyes for the fact that such a show of contempt would bring reprimand. Plus, as mentioned before, Ashen had no wish whatsoever to bring attention to herself.

As she attempted to eat the salad, the child cocked her ears to catch the conversation between the eldest and her father. It seemed that Lord Darcsha wasn’t too pleased with the idea of his daughter heading to court.

“There is no need for us to be involved in such happenings. We are perfectly content here. Do you disagree that your meals are not sufficient? Is the company not to your liking?” The dark man’s brows raised in a scornfully mocking gesture. It was no unknown fact that the Lord did not care for the courtly happenings. He preferred his atmosphere peaceful and silent as compared to the colorful noise of the King’s parties. The eldest, on the other hand, had a different idea of what she thought to be entertainment.

“Most of the company is pleasing,” the eldest replied with a bit of cheek. The unspoken insult did not fall deaf on Ashen’s ears, but the child ignored it. Her sister did not care for her at all, thus Ashenoko made no efforts to become on the other’s good side. “The meals are adequate. Yet, this place lacks the proper influence to raise proper young ladies that the court provides.”

The Lord pressed his fingers together in front of his face. “Rhordinin,” he started, sharply, “I have spoken to you before about questioning me. This is not the time, nor is it the place, to play word games and make implied insults. You will not be going to court tonight. You will not be going to court tomorrow. You will not be going to court until I deem you old enough to go to court, and that is the final word on that matter.” As if making his point that the subject was closed, Lord Darcsha turned his head to look over at the middle child. “Mildar told me you have started a new novel, Rowan. Do you care to share your thoughts on it?”

The girl lifted her eyes from her meal and smiled, obviously pleased her father seemed at least mildly interested in her. Though normally a quite, studious young girl, Rowan launched into a detailed description of the texts she had found in the library and taken down to read. It was at that point that Ashen took her chance to slip away from the table unnoticed, leaving through a servant’s passageway near the back of the dinning hall.

Steeling as silently as she could through the hallway, the child passed various adjoining halls that were all part of a network of passages that ran throughout the entire Manor. Candle sconces lit the way as Ashen hurried down the somewhat narrow, stone floored corridor. The flickering light cast strange shadows around her and placed a soft glow on her pale hair and complexion. If any were to pass by that were not familiar with the youngest Darcsha, they might have confused her for a spirit with the way the light shone from her being. It was yet one more eerie occurrence that caused many who worked in or around the Manor to keep their distance.

She was looking for one passageway in particular and, counting under her breath as she passed each opening, finally turned left into a poorly lit and, as the light faded the further she progressed, seldom used corridor. It was well enough that no one came along that way. Ashen’s destination was not one that anyone, let along her father or Mildar the nurse maid would approve of.

Her path took her to a set of stairs that descended into the earth, wooden walls turned to stone and the temperature dropped noticeably. The chill gave the girl a slight shiver, but she was used to this path and all the peculiarities that went along with it. Even in the dark, the child knew the way by heart.

The smell of dust was strong in the air as Ashen neared her target. A small smile started to tug at the corners of her mouth, though no actual grin formed. Holding her hand out in front of her to feel, as the lights had since become non-existent, the child felt a solid wooden blockade touch her fingertips. Stopping, she moved her hand to the right and felt the smooth brass doorknob placed into the wood. Twisting, Ashen gave a mighty tug.

Moving the door was a far larger challenge for the child than it would’ve been for a servant, but Ashenoko had done so many times since discovering the room beyond that she knew how much strength she would need to budge the slab of wood enough to squeeze through. It took a good deal of tugging, but the child soon had a space between the jamb and the actual door large enough to slip passed.

Beyond the portal she had slipped through was a pitch blackness that felt heavy with age. No natural light had shone in this room for longer than a child of Ashen’s age could comprehend. That didn’t matter to the girl, however, as she groped about for the candle she’d left beside the door. Picking up the waxy stick, the child fumbled again for the striker she had placed beside her candle. Feeling the metal apparatus touch her fingers, the girl took only a moment to bring a small flame to life on the wick of her wax stick.

The light spread out around the child in a small radius, illuminating the closest objects and casting dancing shadows at the edges. Quickly, as she was not one to favor the darkness for more than a few moments, Ashen moved around the parameter of the room, finding the various candelabra and sconces she knew were there. She wasn’t sure how long it took to fill the room with light, but it wasn’t a quick task. The size of the room was immense compared to others that were a part of the Manor. Why it went unnoticed, unspoken of, and unused was a mystery to Ashen, but she spoke nothing of it to her father, sisters, or her nurse. The things in this room were too special for them to take away from her. In the entirety of the Manor, it was this place that she felt the most safe.

The light she created brought a new life to the normally dark room and filled Ashen’s heart with a sense of happiness. This was her place, in all it’s oddity and wonder. It was the room that made her feel the most at home. Perhaps it was because none of the objects in there really belonged in the Manor, so far as she could see. What were a bunch of old, dusty books good for, anyway? And all those strange, ridiculously long knives hanging in ornamental coverings hung up on the wall seemed out of place when most of the dwelling’s knives were used for eating. There were more than just those blades, however. Ashen had found what she thought to be oversized hatchets, big sticks with stones embedded into them, two knives foolishly stuck together with handles in the center, and smaller knives that would still be no good for cutting one’s dinner. Though she didn’t know what they really were, she still considered them to be her treasures.

Of all her treasures, she favored a table full of large, smoothly rounded pieces of stone. They sparkled in the candle light and were warm to her touch, though the temperature in the sub-terrain room was relatively low.

If Ashen had known what her treasures really were, perhaps she wouldn’t have come so often to be amongst them. There were reasons the only unblocked passageway to the basement-level room was a long forgotten servants hall. Magic was said to be no longer in the Darcsha blood and such relics that Ashen had found were dangerous in the hands of those who knew nothing about them.

The room was in reality, a storage place for all the old magics that had lingered after the last Darcsha who practiced the Art had passed, numerous centuries ago. The normal entrance, a door that opened into the rest of the basement, was sealed and forgotten. Those that closed it had hopped it would remain so. As most who possessed the Art went, the last Darcsha to hold any claim to that sort of Power was an erratic man who collected anything with an ounce of magical potential, regardless of the cost. His treasures were now, however, Ashen’s treasures and she didn’t care what they were once used as. She viewed them with the usual marvel of a child, seeing them as merely wonderful trinkets.

Setting her candle on the table that held the assortment of colorful orbs, Ashen searched out her favorite. It was pale like ivory with a light purple tinted swirl that reminded the child very much of herself. She smiled as her eyes found the smooth object and, like usual, it was warm to the touch as the child picked it up. She paused for a moment once it was cradled in her small arms. It seemed warmer than usual.

Ashenoko frowned and held the ball firmly in both of her hands, lifting the orb to eye level to better examine it. Turning her head slightly to one side, she peered at the ball, squinting as if it would help her better determine the source of the heat. After a moment, Ashen’s eyes widened and she peered fully into the orb for, in the very center of the stone object there glowed a soft light. It pulsed slowly for a few beats before changing the pattern to the rhythmic pounding of the child’s own heart.

Transfixed, Ashen gazed into the orb at the fiery glow, lips slightly agape. Her ball had never done this before and she found it more beautiful than any other object in her treasury, beyond the words of even older adults who had a much broader vocabulary.

The pulsing seemed to be getting brighter the longer she stared at it. Each beat brought the light closer to the inner edge of the confines of the orb and Ashen’s breathing picked up, as did her heart beat. The light throbbed with the change. With a sudden burst of light, Ashen yelped and shut her eyes as the blinding flash filled the large chamber.

Behind closed lids, a kaleidoscope of images flew before the child’s vision. She understood none of it and quivered as a sudden unnatural wind whipped at her hair and clothing, blowing out the candles she had spent so long in lighting. Opening her eyes, Ashen’s breath caught. She could still see the chaotic images dancing in the darkness before her; pictures of horrible creatures twining around one another, flashes of red and yellow, grotesque humanoids laughing, all whirling around her in a never ending cycle. She didn’t hear them but imaging the hideous sounds they were making.

She spun in circles, looking for a way to escape the faces and monsters that assaulted her vision. Beyond the horrors was a darkness Ashen dared not run to for it, too, made her heart skip with fear. Confused and frightened, the child hugged her orb to her stomach and closed her eyes, trying to block out the images. They would not leave her, though, and in a final attempt, the girl bolted, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. Screaming, she ran into something she couldn’t identify and fell to the ground in a dazed heap, head spinning. Rolling over, Ashen stared blankly up into the darkness above her before darker spots filled her eyes and the young child blacked out completely, orb still clutched tightly in one hand.

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AN: Meh, not the best I’ve done, but it’s good enough to post!

Questions/Comments/HELPFUL Criticisms are always welcome!