The Kathaerdous

By Xandra the blue

This story is vaguely based on Amethyst, but only in the vaguest way. Please read and review, it's my first original fic, and I need all the constructive criticism I can get.

But do not criticise the name Kathaerdous unless you can think of a better one, okay?

Less with me, more with sorry, sorry to keep you waiting! Please enjoy, if you don't r and r!

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What are they Psyxens?

That is the question that may run across your mind during this story. I know it did when I first heard it, a few years a go. How I became drawn in their story is irrelevant, as I am not important to this tale. What is important though, is that this story is told, so I may never have to hear it again.

They are everything, yet nothing. They are the candle in the darkness, and the shadows the light throws into the void. They are the grace of hero's and hate of Villains. They are everything we desire; yet everything we despise. They are the charitable acts in the streets, and the sickening crimes against all we hold dear. They are the embodiment of endless love and affection, blind to all imperfections, and the distillation of pure fiery hatred.

They are the people who lived on this earth, before any life began. They were the original men, existing before the gods and all other rulers of the earth, with only two aims in mind. To survive, and to help the other races on the earth to survive.

Then the Matriarch came, and created man, sons of the earth. The Psyxens were the first to welcome man, helping his race to survive by finding them food, and keeping danger away. Men at first were grateful, loving the Psyxen like their own kindred, loving their gentle ways and learning all the Psyxen would teach them.

Soon Man was no longer dependant on the Psyxen to survive, and began to envy their peaceful neighbours, who never seemed to suffer in the same way from harsh winters and cruel droughts, how they never grew old, and how they could become beautiful, and wise. Man envied their eternal struggles, and their power, which made them superior to them. Man despised their feeling of inferiority to the Psyxen.

One day in anger a man tried to kill one of the Psyxens in cold blood. They fought, and finally, in a passion, the Psyxen killed the man. The moment the man's blood spilt on the innocent earth, man and Psyxen kind were cursed. Man fought back, killing the Psyxen, and making the rest of them their slaves. Man killed many of the Psyxen children as punishment. This was a very foolish act on the human's part.

Soon Psyxens became to despise the very people they had helped and loved millennia ago. Some of them escaped human captivity, and started to live with the humans, fitting in mostly. Soon, there was a separate Psyxen race, looking just like humans living and working amongst them.

These Psyxens lived for ages, quietly, not attracting too much attention. Humans forgot about them. At least, nearly all of the humans did, dismissing the stories of them as myths. But in the year of the first millennium, something came, two leaders of the Psyxens, who spoke for them.

The name the Psyxens gave to this person was the Kathaerdouses. The humans soon killed them, saying they were dangerous heretics, but the Psyxen did not forget these Psyxen as easily as the humans. There would be a Second Coming of the Kathaerdous. They would come and set then free, creating a place called Sidaradiijes that the Psyxens could go to, without humans or any others to destroy their happiness, or lives.

One day, but not today, they knew that. They waited in burning silence; accepting all humanity did to them, and didn't fight back. They whispered in shadows, talking in the night, the humans unaware and apathetic. Not until the Second Coming started to near.

This is one of the stories of the Kathaerdouses.

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There is a beautiful sunrise near the Psyxen Retreat, situated in an area near Kalambaker. The sunrises over the rocks in the morning, colouring the clouds purple pinks and oranges, tinged with blues and whites. The cliffs, usually a boring browny grey, seem orange and vibrant. The place seems quiet and cold; the dust on the roads seemed to have settled over the night.

It is very hot here, most people retreating inside about two in the afternoon, so only the hardest and spikiest of tree's being able to grow here, but under the half light of dawn, these trees are lush and green. There are many mountains near and around Kalambaker and a thousand more myths about them. In ancient times there were many armies of men, and, of course, the occasional Psyxen amongst them.

Some hard grasses and ferns grow on these mountains, scorpions and other animals living off them, and in them. On the top of these mountains is the perfect place to go, if you want to avoid the temptation of the modern world. And indeed, many monasteries sprung up on these mountains in the tenth century. But many have been abandoned, and are little more than ruins nowadays.

So monks have given up on just living off the ground, and what the lady had to give them, but now open up for tourists to wonder and googol at, and for opportunists to sell things to them. But not all of them. One monastery, supposedly abandoned after a fire a century ago, is far off and aloof from the rest. It is a beautiful place, in a down-to-earth fashion, and seems to stand without repair.

Outside one of the rooms in the monastery, there is a sort of patio, which although simple, was magnificent. This had nothing to do with the materials used to make it, which were limestone and the wood of the local trees, but the view of the little towns and the magnificent mountains.

You could stare at it for hours without getting bored, because every time you looked there would be something new to look at, maybe a new sapling tree or a cave in the rocks you hadn't seen before. Whatever was new, it always made viewing the scene more exciting. It was also a good place to go and think, as the gentle wind would keep you cool, yet never make you cold or irritate you.

The view at the moment was of the sunrise, over the towering rocks. If you didn't see it with your own eyes, it would be hard to believe that the view was really real. If you saw a painting, or someone described the view to you, you would say that the person was lying. It was if even the Lady had some sort of artistic temperament. But this was not true, as the Psyxen retreat did not exist.

A man, or what looks like a man, leans over the wood and stone wall, looking out at the view, studying the detail. His silver hair blew in the wind as he stared out and waited for something. This man was beautiful. He didn't wear a shirt, so his bare chest was exposed to the world. It was lightly tanned, toned, yet not too brawny, his skin looking soft and beautiful from the distance. But, if you looked closely at his wonderful face, you could see his bright blood-red eyes. Eyes he had been born with, and which were a blessing and a curse.

An older man walked up to him from the room. He wasn't nearly as beautiful, but old and rugged, his skin like leather. White whiskers grew on his chin, uneven and harsh, looking a little like sandpaper. The old man's hair was white, crossed with a few remaining streaks of brown hair. His clothes were far more modest; a checked shirt rolled up at the sleeves and some fairly casual trousers.

He old man tapped the young man on the shoulder. The young man turned around sharply, his bright red eye's glowing. Then, seeing whom it was sighed and turned around again.

'How is she?' he enquired.

'Aster?' asked the old man,' She's fine. Mother and child, both asleep in her room.'

The young, silver haired man breathed a sigh of relief. He hug his elbows over the bar, looking down and said,' Was their any trouble?'

'No, not much, ' said the man; ' The birth was pretty natural, which surprised me.' Then there was a gap in the conversation as both of them thought about what they were about to say. The wind blew the young man's hair out of place, and the old man sat down on a bench.

'I know what you're thinking old friend,' said the young man, 'and I do love Aster, you know.' Said the young man.

'She's very beautiful.' Said the old man neutrally.

'Oh, my dear old friend, I do love her. She loves me, I know that.'

'She adores you.' Said the old man,' She gave up her husband and children just to become your hand maiden.'

'For which I am eternally grateful' said the young man in a bored fashion.

'You shouldn't be so flippant.' Chided the old man.

'I shouldn't, but am.' Said the young man, 'Anyway, is all right for me to go see her?'

The old man sighed and replied,' Yes. I think she's well on the way to recovery. She asked for you by the way.'

'What was the baby anyway?' asked the young man, turning around, looking at the old man for the first time during this conversation.

'It was a girl.' Said the old man, 'A beautiful baby girl with the prettiest purple eyes....'

The young man turned around again, and said dismissively, 'Kill it.'

'What?' asked the old man, as if he hadn't heard him.

'I said kill the baby.' Repeated the young man in the indifferent matter.

'Kill it? It's your daughter, ' argued the old man,' She's a healthy beautiful baby, I helped deliver her.'

'It's just another girl.' Said The young man, ' It'll grow up to be just like it's mother. Weak and silly, just another talentless mouth to feed, another Psyxen to order about.'

'But, but.' the old man choked.

'Do as I say.' Said the young man, ' I won't have that thing hanging around the place while we wait for the Kathaerdouses to turn up.'

''s your daughter!' exclaimed the old man.

'Look, just take it when Aster's sleeping, break its neck and burn the remains.' Said the young man; 'It's not difficult.'

On the old man's face there was an expression of horror mixed with outrage. He couldn't believe what this man was saying. He was telling him to kill the life of a new-born baby, just because he didn't want it. The old man had been a midwife for thirty years now, mostly to Psyxen births, because they tended to be difficult, and here he was, not being told to try to save the babies life, but destroy it.

The old man was only human. He had only discovered about the Psyxens by accident, during a difficult birth a long time ago, and as soon as he knew what he was dealing with, he had become almost famous in their community. But, even in humans, he had never met any father so callous as to casually tell him to kill their baby.

His face turned from uncontrollable anger and disgust to a resigned sadness. 'Yes.' Said the old man.

'Thank you.' Said the young man simply, 'You will be paid for your services, of course. How much do I owe you? I'm afraid we don't really use money that much.'

'Nothing Rex,' said the old man, ' I don't need money at my time of life. '

The young man smiled over the balcony. 'So, you want more life?'

The old man looked almost aghast, as he seemed to guess what the young man was thinking,' Oh, no!' said the old man, ' I can't, I mean, only the lady may give life.'

'Really?' asked the young man dreamily, 'She never gave me life, and I have more than enough.' The young man turned around, and laughed. 'Oh ye of too much faith! Whatever tests the lady's sent you, you've passed it. ' He touched the old man's face, and stroked it, feeling the tough leathery skin and the white stubble with his own soft young hand.

'So, do you still want the baby to die?' asked the old man.

'Of course.' Said the young man, 'Go do it now, if she's still awake.'

***** Well, there the start of my characters, I think I explain the basis of the plot their, but not all of it.

Next chapter if I get some reviews: New characters, who are quite important in their way, resolution to the baby problem, and possibly the plot bunny of how the baby gets adopted.

Please review me, criticism, random sentence fragments, maybe even praise!!! ALL IS WELCOME!!

*cough* *Cough* well, thank you for reading!