A/Ns: Better late than never, I guess. Blame it on a broken wrist and some very frisky kitties.

The prophesy used here comes from my other story “Brother Sun, Sister Moon”, but knowledge of the events described there is not nessesary. But if you want to read it, I will not stop you. grin

The story will probably follow this order from now on: one chapter from Aurion’s POV, One from Sermolenus and one dealing with the past. Might be a few exceptions to this, though.

Enjoy, and tell me what you think.

CHAPTER 4: Born in Darkness

“Born in Darkness, bred by Death,

The Sun and Moon will rise.

Lost in life, bound by birth,

Will be the King's demise.”

Dying words of the Blind Prophetess of the Death Daemon.

Approximately eighty sun-cycles before.

The sign came with the dark of the moon. It came through the fragile essence of a dream; it came riding a breath of cold air that carried the sigh of a thousand deaths. In this dream the cry of a newborn changed to the gurgling sound of a dying man’s slit throat, while a woman gave birth to a shadowy form.

The old shaman rose from his bed and shook his head to clear the dream’s ominous residue. Throwing his shirt over his shoulders, he walked to the back room to wake his apprentice. With the essential supplies under their cloaks they left in the middle of the night to wake the third person involved. Still, the shaman could not overcome his nervousness. Such a ritual had not been performed in many generations. But this was something he had to do.

Not one star witnessed their journey as the three forms took the path uphill under a clouded night sky. An owl, perched high on a cedar tree, watched them curiously as they entered one of the burial mounds. They walked down a narrow corridor laced with spider webs until they reached the main burial chamber. The shaman used the flame of his lantern to light a single candle and then extinguished all other sources of light.

Under the flickering candlelight, the dried remains of a man seemed to grin malevolently to the intruders. On a shelf on the west wall the corpse of a long dead tribal hero lay, crowned by crumbling funeral garlands and encircled by burial offerings. But this night he would not rest alone. A woman was lying on the floor, resting her back on a rug decorated with strange runes and signs. And she was in advanced labor.

She cried out in pain. The brew the shaman had given her a while back had succeeded in inducing labor, but had little effect on her agony. The shaman eyed her fearfully, but he could not abandon his plan. This had to be done tonight. So the chanting went on, interrupted occasionally by the woman’s cries. The two men walked in circles around her under the quivering flame of the candle, speaking words whose meaning had been lost in the depths of time; but not their power. The air felt alive around them as they sprinkled consecrated brews around the chamber and burned sacred herbs.

The midnight wind sighed and somehow the corpse on the west wall seemed to grin wider. Before the shaman could take a second look at it, a sudden draft of air extinguished the candle’s flame. An owl cried somewhere outside and then the dying squeak of a mouse was heard as the eternal game of life and death played on. Then the clouds parted and the light of Kimerlin, the midnight star, illuminated the burial chamber. Enhanced by the crystalline nature of the walls, the ray of light was shattered in myriads of stars and suns and rainbows blessing the birth of the child that came into the world.

The woman cried out a last time. The child screamed and, at that moment, the bones of the dead hero turned to dust.

As his apprentice tended to the exhausted woman, the shaman took the crying baby in his arms, wrapped it in warm skins and cleaned his face with a soft cloth. A weight had been lifted from his heart at the arrival of the child. Everything had turned out as planned. Born by the ancient rites, the soul of the dead hero would take residence inside the boy and would thus fulfill the prophesy. It had been foretold; born in Darkness, bred by Death.

This boy would be the hero who would lead his people to freedom.

Not long after, the burial chamber was once more deserted as the men helped the woman and her child back to the village. While they were on their way downhill, the owl flew to the opening on the top of the chamber and glanced inside, scanning the floor for possible prey.

The insane laughter that filled the empty chamber made the owl seek her prey elsewhere.