Bound By Blood (4 page)

             
“It is almost time
,
Beloved, almost time
.
No force on this earth can prevent me from finding you. We will be one again. Watch for the signs. Fear not the unknown
.
A storm is coming.
”
The voice said
as the mists began to fade into
the coming
darkness. She was standing alone
,
harboring
within her
the shores of an empty dream.

             
"It is time."
He whispered,
and then, "
Awake
n
!
"

***

  
             
  
S
amanthŕa
Lampiŕ opened her eyes
as if someone had
placed
her under a spell
,
and with
but
one enchanted command,
Awaken
,
she'd been suddenly
released.

             
Blinking,
s
he focused on her chamber. She was awake,
alive,
and breathing.
She was
safe
,
at
home, and
this
was her
realm
, called by the name of their bloodline, Lampiŕ.
Her dream was lost to the day’s fading light
,
as it
had disappeared so
many times before.

             
Still, it was good to get one's bearings, when feeling so displaced. Looking around, s
he saw the fire
in
a
large stone hearth
burning brightly.
Over it
,
hanging from
the
cathedral ceiling
,
clippings and bunches of herbs
were
drying. The wooden trim around her room bore protective glyphs
known
only
by her people. Even the
smooth, flat
stones of the floor had these carvings engraved into them by the request of her mother.
She felt the warmth of her wine colored eiderdown
draped
across
her
huge bed with the
matching
heavy curtain
s hanging from all
sides. Her heaps of books,
scrolls,
and tools of magic lay
all
about,
and
resins of incense
from
their invocations invoked the previous night,
still
scented the air.

             
Through arched windows to her right, a
soft shade of
dark violet
night
began to push away the dying light
.
Day was different in the
Realm
of Lampiŕ
,
compared to
that of most
realm
s. Its faint light
was a soft
,
c
omfortable,
having no harshness to its rays. Night
,
though
,
was more
vivid and alive,
wh
en
three buoyant lavender moons hung high above in its enveloping skies.

             
Creatures of night
began to cry softly in the distance. A cool breeze moved through the balcony doors
once she lazily pulled herself away from her bed and opened them
.
She could hear the
mortal Phãegens
beat their drums wildly
in
the lush,
sparkling
evergreen forests below
.
Their
chants
brought life and excitement to the
souls, which
could hear them. Their fires
began to spl
ash the purplish- midnight
skies with soft hues of crimson.
The l
ight scents of
ritual--
smoke and sage
--
clung to the air.

             
Her eyes became wide and alert. The bonfires were lit.
Beal-Tene
had fallen upon the face of the
realm
s, giving breath to
a season of
spring
,
rebirth,
and fertility
. Because of this, her heart was comforted by the en
ergy moving throughout the land, throughout TEŔAH itself
, even though a part of her was still mournf
ul for her lost dream. C
onfused
by it
, she grew
hungry
for
the truth of
those eyes.

             
Taking a few steps onto the balcony, itself, t
hrough the
thick, heavy, boscage
below her castle, she could see shadowy figures alrea
dy starting to dance around gigantic
bonfires. Dream or not, the song of the waking worlds began to call out to her. The
Phãegens
,
wh
o
were the
Moppães (children)
of nature,
were gathering,
dancing,
and reaching out to
the
Great God and
Mother
Goddess.

             
Samanthŕa
knew
the Phãegens would
not remain there. They would soon move deeper into the mountains where the
Vlachŕa
--
most ancient
and powerful
Elders
of the Lycãon
bloodline
--
were
hold
ing their
annual Beal-Tene
ritual and
celebration.

             
From one fire pit to the next, from
realm
to other
realm
, all
life that served the Great God and Goddess,
would move towards the great gala. They would take torches
,
bringing the flame from their own fires
,
to join with an even greater one. It was symbolic of all species,
clans,
and bloodlines
who attended. They did so in
order to show
that
they were as
one, if only for one night
.
It was symbolic of a magical unity of
each
realm
, in hopes of a prosperous and fertile year
. It
was
more
than magical. It was timeless.

             
She took a deep breath
,
thinking she'd
better hurry. Those of
the
sacred
twelve families and clans
of
her
bloodlines
would be attending the celebration.
She
was High Priestess.
She
would not
,
nor could she miss such
a
n important
celebration
.

             
Standing
before a large looking glass and
brush
ing
out her long raven hair
,
Samanthŕa's heart pounded away with anticipation
.
Her grayish blue eyes reflected the magic stirring in the night. They began to softly glow against the waning darkness.
Her power was yawning within. It wanted to tap into the surrounding energies.
Hurrying, s
he slipped on a
black
gown, which
was embroidered with silver runic symbols along its delicate edges. She laced the
silvery
strings
of the tight girdle
upward
t
owards
the
pushed up bodice.
The
color
seemed to bring out the
su
bt
le
warmth
of her skin
,
which appeared to be sun kissed
,
even though she was a daughter of the blessed moon
s
.

             
Hoping she wasn't running to far behind, she quickly returned
to the balcony to see if the
Phãegens had
begun to move up the mountain. Once they lit their torches and entered th
e deep of the forests, all would see a trail of fire
resembling
that of a Drągýns
tail. They would light
other
torches along the way, sticking them into the ground for others who attempted the journey. This
Drągýn
s tail could be seen in many directions, from
realm
to o
ther
realm
s. Very symbolic, the tail
would lead
to the mouth of the
Drągýn
, an enormous
body of
fire,
where the
Vlachŕa
awaited everyone’s arrival.

             
Someone's coming. Someone's near.

             
Samanthŕa instincts
triggered her skin to feel
a familiar shiver.

             
Her sister
Dezarãe
entered
the room
in
a trail of mist. She materialized as quickly as
spray
seemed to dissolve.
“Oh good
;
I was hoping you were awake.”

             
Dezarãe’s
beauty
was
pure enchantment
and when she smiled, the entire world lit.
Her skin
had
the milky glow of the moon and all its mystery
.
Her long and curly
hair held the pigments of the earth in its deep claret richness.
It left one with the
impression of something untamed and wild.
Samanthŕa loved her dearly.

             
“I see you’re ready to go.”
Samanthŕa
s
tated
the obvious.
Dezarãe
was probably dressed and ready hours ago
,
before the sun ever threatened to leave the sky. “Have you heard anything from the rest of our sisters?”

             
“
Oh yes!
"

             
"And are they coming?"

             
"Yes, yes!" Dezarãe beamed brighter than the stars. "
Sameŕald is
bringing
Jezaŕah and
Keysãe
.
Samaŕah
and
Morrgãyne
will be along shortly
after that
.”
Dezarãe
turned and then
fussed over herself in the mirror. She
f
idgeted with her forest, velvet
dress
,
which couldn’t help but flatter her
curvaceous figure
.
The
bodice
edges around her breasts were woven with golden threads
,
no doubt spun by the S
ephŕel
creatures
of the Elemental
Realm
s
.
The S
ephŕel were shy little things
with
golden skin, hair,
eyes,
and wings
unless they were males, and then they were silver
.
T
hey stood about three feet high and
we
re obsessed with spinning and weaving. They s
a
ng enchantments over the material they use
d
, a type of
web, which was released
from their
claw-tipped fingers
. A
nd wh
en
they sang, the web changed
to thread
,
becoming strong
, enchanted,
and unbreakable.