A Grave Of Stones - Prologue

The sun’s rays shone from below the horizon and the evening chorus of birds began to fall silent, leaving the soft rustle of the breeze-blown foliage to fill the night air.

Upon a small grassy cliff, overlooking the gentle waves of the sea, sat two tiny upright stones.

One from cold black marble, the message engraved barely readable, and the other in harsh white.

The air about the graves was still, an everlasting memory of lost, sacrificed dead.  They were statues of simplicity, out of place with the beauty of the area, spoiling the happiness of what could be felt, feeding in sorrowful emotion.

A figure walked into the clearing.

Her face was lifted to the darkening sky, tears streaking down her pale features, arms held useless at her side.

She wore simple dark clothes, a skirt flowing in the soft wind and a long shirt, closed to keep out the night chill.

Her hair merged effortlessly with the black clothes, the white streak stark, wrong, in the state of mourning.

It signified her guilt; her part in the horror that had gone before, in the life of the two children that lay dead in the ground not far from her still feet.

The young woman trembled, not from the growing coldness of the air, but from something, something inside herself, from her dark soul that she was keeping secret from the outside extroverted world.

The tears that had been silent broke into choking sobs of despair as she walked to stand between the emblems of death and her chest heaved with the weight of her guilt.  As she let out her endless cries, her legs collapsed and she sunk to her knees, her hands resting on each stone, shivering in sorrow.  The cold emanating from the graves grew, but still she held onto them tightly, as her head bowed to the gravity of the earth and of her dark sadness.

The evening grew on, darkening to night, and still she knelt in a state of near unnatural introverted isolation.  The starlight burned her tainted hair in a spectral glow, and slowly her eyes came back into the plane of the living, shifting from a void of emptiness to a light, haunted autumn brown.  She grew aware of her seemingly unarmed state of being and sighed deeply, taking in long breaths of the fresh cold air.

Her body was stiff from the unknown hours of morning and it was with great effort that she shook her head and began to rise.

Her emotion-ridden mind focused sharply into a defence and she felt a touch of unknown magic before it misted into nothing, fear ran through her in a shiver and her muscles tensed, waiting for something, anything.

A howl of wind drifted past her long midnight hair flowing with it until it faded and the strands floated back down into a stationary state.

Another breeze grew, and this one didn’t end, whipping her skirt and shirt about in a fierce gale.

She could hear the sea down below the cliff and it was serene. This was not natural.

The woman lifted her and, letting the wind blow trough her fingers than clenched her fist tightly.  Suddenly the wind dropped, the trees clam, her clothes straight on her frame again and a voice drifted from the darkness.

“Why should you deserve to disturb the slumber of the buried?”

The woman froze in shock, in horror, as the voice echoed through to the depths of her soul.  She knew who it was and she held her clenched hand up to her breast not wanting to face him.  He walked forward, his emerald eyes burning into her fearful gaze, the long golden hair floating in the air, unnaturally restless.  She knew what it signified.  His power was unleashed within and hungry in its need to be released to the airs of Gaia. 

He towered over her for a moment and she lifted her head to stare at him mutely.

Their gazes locked for moments of silence until he turned away to look down at the black marble grave.

His gloved hand stroked the stone and knelt slowly to caress the engraved letters with a steady flow.  His fingers knew the words; they had followed the pattern countless times before.

“My son.” His voice was less than a whisper, a haunting noise, like the drifting leaf falling to lay in death on the floor.

It caught in her heart, twisting it cruelly, but still she stayed silent.  No words could relay her anguish for him.

Yet her vicious mind, in the corner that held the need for vengeance and a serious dark need to cause pain spoke out her thoughts to the ears of the despaired father.

“Your selfish need for dominion killed him.”

The emerald eyes snapped to hers and rose up in a rage, the power about him growing dangerous, strands of blond hair floating up in anger.

He stood above her, his chest heaving and his fists trembled with the need to strike, to knock her down for the hated words.  How dare she even speak to him? Her own selfish needs for freedom from love had caused this; her own corrupt power had begun their slow decay into enemies.

Without another second passing he struck her across the face in a tremendous blow of speed and hate.

She fell to the grass, holding her cheek, her body shivering in pain and in the state of utter control.  Her own Power now coursed through her blood, seeping tendrils of desire for blood into her soul.  But she trapped the thoughts and raised her face back to him in defiance.

He stared down at her, his face contorted into a violent one of agony but she saw the realisation in his eyes and she knew that the angelic side of his demon nature fought with the truth of her words, dragging his rage back into sorrow and self-hatred.

She played the dangerous game with him that had begun in their years of happiness.

“He was still my son, though only for a purpose of being the embodiment of all Dark Power.”
His strong fierce voice broke as the bitter words poured out and he looked back down at the grave. “He was still my son.”

She fought her own Power, but it was useless, her magic was too strong in her highly emotional state and she let it flood through her body, feeling it settle in her soul with a sigh of content.  Brown eyes become black pits of hell and she stood as if never struck down, her appearance calmly cold and lifeless.

“Then what was the other? Another useless child?”  A cruel smirk distorted her features.  “I never knew you cared for others Aran.”

The green eyes narrowed to slits and glared.  “It was a flaw.  It was Her child, not mine.  Her lover took it as his own, though it would die anyway.”

She stood, considering his words, and then shook her head.

“You knew what was to happen.  Why the paternal mourning? It makes me sick.”

He motioned to the surroundings, a vicious frown marring his normally handsome face.

“Why the mourning yourself?  You were not even present in Gaia during this, though You caused it.  You were being punished, were you not, for past deeds?”

“I am here, Aran, mourning the pain it caused my closest friend and the pain and sorrow of the passing of young life for pathetic means.”

The man’s face tightened in fury and he opened his mouth to speak back at her but she held up her hand to silence him.

“Where I was, had nothing to do with your vile things.  I did Not cause this. Your greed, lust and hatred caused their lives and deaths.”

Her voice was deadly, emotionless, but her void-filled eyes narrowed.  “Do not let your soul shift the guilt.”

Aran stared at her, stared into her vision, stared at her for long minutes.

His eyes were hard, soulless, but after a time, they changed.  They softened into orbs of memories, reflections of emotions that echoed through his soul.

“I know who to blame Mia.  Do not worry yourself.”

The woman seethed with anger fresh.

“Do not call me Mia, nightmare.  You forfeited that right when you abused my soul.  My name is Almia Castlestorm and you will refer to me with the proper respect due my status.”

Though shorter in height, suddenly the lady named Almia seemed to gain an air of importance.  Her chin rose in an almost defiance of his own aura of Power and she looked down her nose, though his eyes were above.

Aran studied her for a moment.  Displeasure settled over his own features though his emerald gaze betrayed something else.  They betrayed his deeper hurt at her hatred of his familiar nature.  So be it, he thought.  If she would play by Gaia Council rule, then so would he.  Therefore he would be an equal, not lower.  His face instantly snapped to a stern dominance and he glowered at her.

“Fine, Lady Castlestorm.  We will skirt each other like fluttering servants, simply nipping each other in the style of our dearly loved Council.”

Mia said nothing, she fiercely wanted to deny his words, prove that she was trying to bear her title with more grace than that which he portrayed.  But she wasn’t.  She had used it in defence of his Power.   She didn’t want to deal with his volatile, dangerous nature.

Unfinished – But Comments Dearly Wanted…