This is the story of one character in a sea of many, the life's story of the son of the devil. This is Jevan's story....
Forenote: This story takes place in a Medieval Fantasy world, where the races are predominately Anthropomorphic, although it ranges from Humans, to Furres, Demons and Angels. Expect there to be a lot of chasing around, I'll be as clear as I can without spending the whole storytelling time explaining every little detail. Otherwise, bear with me, and maybe even, enjoy.
Prelude
From the collected prophecies of Apache Wind
Chapter 1 - A Prophet is Born
Malbolgea stood at the window, staring out at the lifeless expanse of land outside of the stone fortress. The isle had once been a paradise, a floating isle in the sky covered in exotic plants and streaked with crystalline streams. Rare and beautiful birds had filled the sky with their music, the rich perfume of expansive flower gardens was as intoxicating as a drug. If he closed his eyes, he could remember that, but he pushed the memory aside and focused on the bleak reality just beyond the glass. From his vantage on the seventh level in the stone keep, the land blurred into a mottled mix of grays and brown, thrown into greater relief by the torches of the guards who stood post at various sentry points. He turned his eyes upwards, towards the night sky as a low rumble rattled the window casing. The low hanging clouds finally gave way, releasing a torrent of rain down upon the isle. Through the sheeting water over the window, he could make out that the guard's torches were going out. But the rainwater quickly wiped away any further distinction to the world below, and threw his reflection back at him. Cold silver eyes glared back at him from the window pane. He might have been a handsome creature, if not for the hatred in those silver eyes. Lifting one hand to brush through his wild mane of blood red hair, he caught a glimpse of a figure in white behind him, reflected in the glass. He turned aside from his reflection in the window, to the woman who stood leaning against the frame of his doorway.
She appeared to be a delicate thing, but appearances were deceiving. A small woman, the classic image of human beauty with blond hair and blue eyes, garbed in what could have easily been mistaken for the flowing robes of a stage magician or an acrobat. She lowered herself gracefully to one knee, bowing her head formally. "My Lord, I've been sent to inform you that your wife has gone into labor, and she requests your presence in the infirmary."
Malbolgea nodded once, and turned back towards the window. He raised one hand, giving his wrist a slight flick, "You are dismissed."
Rising, the woman paused at the door, staring at the ominous figure by the window. Beneath an enveloping cloak of crimson, she could make out the arch of the great metallic wings her Lord bore, the wings which had led him to take the last name of SilverWing. Swallowing once, she spoke up once more, "My Lord, should I tell them you are on your way?"
He turned his head aside slightly from the window, barely enough to bring her into his peripheral vision. The woman's breath caught in her throat as the dim candlelight in the room reflected coldly from the silver of his eyes, like moonlight on the water. Or firelight on a knife. Subtle as smoke was the growl in his voice, it was enough to make the woman's blood run cold.
"Come for me when the child is born, the healers are enough to help Arianna through the birthing. Now get out."
Bowing low, the woman hastily backed out of the doorway, "Yes, Right away, My Lord."
She straightened and rushed down the hallway, grabbing the roughened wooden railing as she began her hasty dash down the winding stairwell. Darting lightly from step to step, she raised one sleeve to brush the cold sweat from her brow. Malbolgea's temper was legendary among his subjects, a moment's hesitation on his orders could be fatal. On top of his natural vicious side, he'd been even more aggressive since his wife, Arianna, had been found to be with child. Everyone stepped lightly around him, he had no problems shooting the messenger. Even when the messenger was a ranking officer in his army, as she was.
All these thoughts were suddenly interrupted as she rounded the last turn of the staircase, and crashed headlong into a black vulpine she could have sworn had been a shadow only a moment ago. She felt an icy hand close around her throat before she suddenly found herself flying to slam into the ground at the base of the stairs, croaking out a curse as the wind was knocked out of her. She glared daggers up at the vulpine who had thrown her, and now stood passively leaning against the railing, looking down at her. A cruel smile flickered across his narrow muzzle.
"You should watch that last step, Zine."
Zine struggled to catch her breath as she continued to glower her hatred at the man on the stairs. Travis Antribane, the High General of Malbolgea's Army. His single blue eye glittered with amusement, the other eye had been replaced with a faceted sapphire and gave her the unnerving impression he always had one eye wide open and staring. Swaying away from the wall, he began to descend the stairs slowly, letting his right hand trail lightly along the wooden railing as he went. As Zine rose and dusted herself off, she caught sight of bandaging wrapping his forearm, just peeking out past the cuff of his tailored black coat. Having regained her breath, she beamed a bright smile at him, as convincingly as she could muster.
"I'll keep that advice in mind. Now, I'd best be on my way, I've instructions from The Lord to inform him when the child has been born, and I'm very sure he'll appreciate knowing that you've seen fit to delay me from my task."
Travis smirked, a touch of amusement in his voice, "I was just on my way up to let him know that he has a son. But I won't keep you from the task, go ahead and nip back upstairs and let him know."
Before giving her the time to respond, Travis stepped sharply past her and quickly disappeared down the hallway, obscured by the milling crowds of guards who had just returned from their posts. Zine cursed under her breath, and then looked back up at the flights of stairs she'd just run down. Nine stories up.
"Shit."
She started jogging back up the stairs.
"As the Lost Realm comes to ashes, so we will once again see the Morning Star, and the lands will be steeped in blood under His light. Having taken the flesh of the oldest son, a Prince is born of Ebon's guardians. Marked against Heaven, a Prophet's blood will clear the sky."
Pushing the door to the infirmary open, Malbolgea swept into the room. Healers and their assistants scattered in their haste to make a path for him to the bed where his wife lay cradling a small bundle to her chest as she slept. He softened his step as he approached the bedside, tilting his head one side to study his sleeping wife and newborn son. His stare settled upon Arianna. She was a sartan, one of a rare and powerful race of magic users. They seemed human at base, with the addition of delicately angular features, pointed ears and a blue tinted pallor to their skin. Every one of them also bore varying shades of blue hair, and blue eyes. True purebreds, and perhaps that's why there seemed to be so few.
Arianna was a beautiful woman, even among the sartans. Her features bore an almost perfect symmetry, and when she laughed her eyes seemed to shine with all the light of Heaven. It had been commonly assumed Malbolgea had taken her as a prize wife, but the truth was, he'd married her simply for the light in her eyes. When she smiled, he felt a warmth that he could find nowhere else. He studied her softened features, and reached down to gently brush an errant lock of hair away from her brow. As he began to draw his hand back, he noticed the bundle in her arms shift, and reached out to fold the corner of the blanket back.
Large blue eyes stared from the bundle at Malbolgea, wide and innocent. Malbolgea reflected for a moment on the child's appearance, he hadn't taken any of his father's physical traits, he was very much his mother's son. These things didn't seem to matter at the moment, he was still, of course, his son. Malbolgea knelt next to the bed, gently laying his clawlike hand on the bundle. His voice, normally harsh and booming, took a softer tone as he spoke, "Welcome home, little prince."
Arianna stirred, letting her eyes drift lazily open to look down into the bundle. Her voice was weary, but full of contentment, "Our little prince…He doesn't have a name yet."
The child's small hand reached to grasp at his father's much larger fingers curiously. Malbolgea smiled.
"His name will be Jevan. Jevan SilverWing."
Chapter 2 - A Mask of the Soul
Jevan sat awake in his bed, staring at the patterns of light cast by the flickering light of his oil lamp. He'd been awakened earlier by the noise of his parents arguing downstairs. The arguments were getting worse, he tried to ignore the noise to no avail. Except for the occassional pop and hiss of his oil lamp, there was no other noise in the house to serve as a distraction, and the door to his bedroom only made it harder to tell exactly what they were arguing over. He drew the blankets up over his face and closed his eyes tightly, wishing silently for them to stop.
Arianna glared at Malbolgea as he pulled his cloak off and put it up on a hook next to the fireplace.
"You disappear for days on end, saying you're off dealing with the army. When you're home, you pass by me as if I didn't exist!"
Malbolgea spread his wings, flexing the stiffened muscles. He winced at the slight scrape of each metallic feather, folding his wings against his back again as he turned to growl at Arianna, "You know what a position I'm in with the negotiations with Heaven coming up again. I can't leave everything to my generals."
"But you don't even pretend to want to make time for me anymore. You treat me as if I was a toy that can be left in the corner until it catches your interest again." Arianna reached out to grab the front of Malbolgea's shirt as he begun to turn away, forcing him to stay facing her. Her voice was full of hurt, "I just want to know that I mean something to you."
Malbolgea swept his right hand up and knocked her grasp off his shirt, a cold laugh slipping abruptly from him, "You mean a headache every time I return home. You talk about me treating you like a toy, one of these days I'm just going to stop picking you up."
Arianna drew back away from him, the injury in her eyes quickly blazing to hatred as Malbolgea continued, his tone cold and uncaring, "I think it's just about time that I'm done with you and I get something more appreciative of my attentions."
"Bastard," Arianna hissed, "I'll not be discarded by you! I'm taking Jevan and we're going home to my father!"
She turned and dashed suddenly for the staircase, but no sooner had she grabbed a hold of the railing then she felt Malbolgea's hand close painfully on her upper arm. He pulled her sharply back and wrenched her around to face him, twisting her arm painfully as he held her immobile. Her blood ran cold at the snarl in his voice, "I would sooner see you dead then walk out on me with my son."
Trying vainly to pull out of Malbolgea's vicelike grip, Arianna spat back, "You can't control our lives, I'm going home!"
Malbolgea brought his free hand up and struck Arianna suddenly, the force of the back of his hand across her face bringing a burst of stars across her vision. He released his hold on her arm, and Arianna slumped to the ground with a choked sob as she pushed herself away from Malbolgea. With a step forward, Malbolgea had her pinned against the stair railing, and he leaned over to growl at her, "I make no idle threats, woman. If you ever think of running off again, I'll have you burned alive."
As the noise from downstairs became nothing more then Arianna's subdued sobbing, Jevan drew the covers down away from his face slowly. As the oil burned lower in his lamp, the shadows at the edges of the room were growing. Sitting up, he clutched at the edge of his blanket as a figure sitting in the corner became more and more distinct.
Slouched casually into the plush velvet seat in the corner of his room was a woman. The shadows around her seemed to blend into the dusty black of her clothing, elegant with her black coat and vest, fitted leggings and calf high boots, white silk puffed slightly at her throat and weighted by a gold medallion. Right arm propped on the chair arm, her hand was delicately curled and rested against her cheek in a thoughtful gesture, flesh pale as bleached bone against a touseled backdrop of black hair. Her black eyes seemed depthless as she studied Jevan in silence from her seat.
Jevan shivered involuntarily as he watched the figure in the corner, watching him. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment, whispering under his breath, "No one is there..."
But I am here. You can see me.
Jevan's eyes snapped open, he stared at the figure in the corner. He heard the words as clearly as they had been spoken, but there hadn't been any noise in the room. The woman tilted her head to one side, reguarding Jevan curiously.
You can hear me as well, little prince. I've been watching you for quite some time...
Her lips had never moved.
Jevan shook his head, drawing back against the headboard of his bed, "You aren't there, I'm still sleeping..."
You know very well that you're awake.
Dropping her hand away from her cheek, the woman rose slowly from her seat, approaching the end of Jevan's bed as the light from the oil lamp receeded further. As her coat fell back with her movement, Jevan caught sight of something else. There was a gaping wound just below the woman's ribcage, blood had crept up to stain a bit of the white silk at her throat. He was sure the voice he heard came from her, but it was something entirely different then sound. The words seemed to simply run through his head, like a stray thought suddenly brought to attention.
Don't be afraid, little prince. I'm not here to hurt you.
Jevan looked again to the oil lamp by his bedside. The flame had all but died out, and was flickering as it burned the last few drops of oil. When he looked back, the woman stood staring at him at the end of his bed. She raised her index finger to press against her lips.
Shhh.
The light winked out.