Neverqueen
(book 1)
Chapter 1: The Child
Gliding on a howling wind, the It’ren creature angled her
feathered wings beneath the dark clouds toward the castle far below. Night
robed her as if with invisibility. Her lips curled in a snarl and she spit.
Again the wind howled over the thick forests surrounding the Eiderveis River.
But she was far from that river, far from the sea that fed it to north.
Her gaze swept over the trees, riveting on the castle’s
portcullis. The man had been foolish to build here. Here this It’ren had found
him. Here she would again please her master by her deeds.
The It’ren descended and circled high above the castle
bulwarks. A child’s cry pierced the air and she turned her human face in the
direction of the central tower. Yellow light washed out of a broad latticed
window, shadows played within it and the child’s mother laughed. “Child, sweet
little pineapple of mine!”
Diving toward the bulwarks, the It’ren perched on them. She
folded her brown feathered wings to her human body and leaned toward the sound,
barely noticing the vast distance to the castle courtyard.
The infant’s cries softened and the mother carried it toward
the window. The woman had pearl-black skin and thick hair that flowed down her
waist. She wore a silken dress as green as spring grass, while round her neck
hung a white animal fur. From this distance it was difficult to see—nay,
impossible. Did the child indeed bear the mark? She hissed into the wind. The
moment had come to see that white-eyed infant for herself.
Crouching and spreading her wings, the creature tensed her
sinewy arms. Her eyes could see clearly the courtyard below, even discern into
some of its shadows. Every door and window in the walls, the hold, and the
central tower. In the darkness her vision was superior to any man’s. A chilly
breeze struck the castle. She flexed her wings and pulled her robe closer to
her neck.
The clouds cracked behind her and moonbeams shone through,
glowing along the edges of each stone structure—and casting a human shadow
alongside of her. She pivoted on her foot and there stood one of the guards,
bedecked in chainmail armor.
“An It’ren?” He frowned down at her and raised a war hammer
in his fists. “When will the last of you foul creatures die?”
“Not before you!” she hissed. She snapped her head back and
brought it to bear on his. The man stumbled backward as she high-kicked her
calloused foot into his neck. First his war hammer dropped. He grasped his
neck, stepped back, and tripped on the battlements. His eyes wide and his mouth
opening in a soundless cry, he fell as clouds covered the moon once again and
darkness reigned over Ostincair Castle. Far below the man’s body splashed into
the moat.
“Intruder!” someone cried. And the call echoed from watchmen
in all corners of the private fortress.
Two men clattered in her direction, waving torches and
keeping their hands to short swords at their waists. The It’ren spat, then
flattened against the wall as they passed.
#
The It’ren, Farsil, perched in the twisting branches of the
treetops surrounding Ostincair Castle. Her heart pounded as dark windows along
the fortress walls and towers glowed with warm yellow light. The heavy twin
doors along one wall opened onto the narrow dirt road that led northward
through the forest. A group of spearmen followed two guards out of the castle
and onto the road. The guards, lanterns held before them, wove around the outer
wall until they stumbled upon their companion’s body.
“It’s Edolt. He’s dead!” The guard who’d spoken knelt beside
the body and spiced his words with venom. “His throat has been crushed.”
The other guard turned to the spearmen and waved his arm. The
contingent lifted the body and hustled back to the entry doors where other
lanterns appeared. “Captain of the guard, you must alert Lord Ostincair that we
have an intruder.”
The voices faded and the great doors squealed as someone
pulled them shut. Lanterns danced along the castle bulwarks and down the stairs
that curved in front of the keep. They were searching, but Farsil knew that
only by a miracle could the intruder be stopped. She stretched her wings and
leaned into a cool breeze, gliding toward the keep and the lighted window.
Surely the child was there.
#
Lord Ostincair marched down the high arched hallway, five
swordsmen tiptoeing behind him. A hundred feet in front of him lay the door to
the stairs, which if he followed would lead him upstairs to the living
quarters. His wife was there. He had spoken with her only an hour ago before
making his rounds of the castle’s outer walls, as was his custom. The security
of her and their child filled his heart with resolution. The river had chosen
him, and he had chosen her, and nothing could be allowed to break her from him.
The columns along the long hallway were filled with ominous
shadows, and above him the stone ceiling faded into darkness. In his mind he
recollected the mysterious disappearance of his child’s nursemaid. It did not
seem that long ago, and still he had no definitive clues as to what had
happened to her. Had she run away? No, he doubted it. Someone had taken her, and
he could guess why. With a lantern in one hand and his short sword in the
other, Ostincair narrowed his eyes for a penetrating gaze into the shadows.
“Spread out! The south entrance door was ajar. I want to make sure nothing came
inside.”
Other lanterns flickered into existence and he glanced from
one to the next, confirming they were all members of his personal force. A
guard skirted a column, glancing up and down, while another held a lantern
toward the wall and walked its length. On the opposite side of the hall other
guards followed suit. Doors slammed shut and lantern-armed guards stood at the
sealed doors as the search continued.
Silence held for a long while. Ostincair relaxed his
shoulders a bit and walked toward the door leading to his family chambers.
From the dark ceiling something shrieked and he glared
upward. Like a falcon diving for prey, an It’ren slipped from the shadows along
a beam. She landed on a guard behind him in a flurry of her feathered wings. As
the guard stumbled to the floor a knife flashed in the lantern light, slashing
his throat. A nearby swordsman stabbed at the It’ren’s head, but she
side-rolled and kicked him hard on the side of his exposed neck.
Ostincair rushed at the creature as the guard crumpled to the
stone floor. But the It’ren spread her wings and launched itself high into the
shadows. Though he peered intently from one arching beam to the next, he could
not sight her.
A guard soon ushered a dozen spearmen into the hall, and
closed the door again behind them. The spearmen huddled around Ostincair, with
spears at the ready to throw should the creature show itself again. “What are
we hunting, Ostincair?” one man murmured.
Ostincair hesitated. For years he had thought— Perish the
idea! He knew what he had seen. “An It’ren.”
“It’ren?” The man pulled at his long beard, then directed his
dark face back at the ceiling. “I thought they went extinct years ago!” he
whispered.
Ostincair firmed his jaw. “Never underestimate the will of a
species to survive.”
“Do you think it has come for your wife, or the child?”
“It will have neither!” Ostincair ordered the guards to stand
watch for the creature while he proceeded to the door. Before ascending the
stairs of the keep, he turned and shouted, “Do what must be done. Kill the
creature before it can do further harm to any of us. I will return shortly.”
The guards shouted an affirmation and he slammed the door
closed behind him.
#
A great drop of blood fell from the rafters overhead to the
stone floor. Soon this was followed by a rain of feathers and more blood so
that the guards glanced at one another, wide-eyed. Something shuffled along the
rafters, but the light of their lanterns did not reach high enough to reveal
the shadows.
One guard slipped out a side door and returned with a torch.
He ran along the hallway walls, sparking flames in the torches hidden in the
darkness there. As the torches flamed the sounds of scratching and thuds echoed
through the structure.
Grabbing the torches, the guards lifted them toward the
sounds overhead. But they could see nothing. More feathers fell to the floor,
then the noise stopped.
#
“All right, what is going on out here?” said Ostincair as he
reentered the hall.
In an instant, an It’ren shot over his head and crashed into
the stairwell. But it sprang to its feet, wings shivering, and darted up the
steps.
“After it!” Ostincair rushed upstairs, his guards tramping
behind. But he was too late.
When he burst into the oval room at the top of the stairs,
the iron chandelier splashed flickering light over his young wife. Her
beautiful eyes had been closed forever. She lay dead across the now-empty crib,
and the large window had been shattered.
“No,” he whispered. He lifted her into his arms and started
walking to the bed. His chest felt ready to burst as tears flowed down his
cheeks. Laying her body on the bed, he stroked her black hair away from her
face. His fingers looked pale against the blackness of her skin. “So
beautiful,” he sobbed. Then he ran to the window and shouted into the night, “I
will kill you, It’ren!”
As soon as he gripped the sill and leaned over it to gaze on
the castle below, the gaunt It’ren’s hissing face shot up. Her boney cheeks
made her look freakish in the dim light. She grabbed his shoulder and yanked
him outside.
Lord Ostincair cried out, more from rage than from surprise.
His last thought as he fell toward the buildings far below, was to glare back
at the creature. Certain death awaited him when he crashed into the stones
below. If he could have done it over, he would have dragged the It’ren with
him.
#
The guards cried out, several of them grasping at the It’ren.
But it spread its wings and flew off into the darkness. As night swallowed the
creature from sight, the guards heard the cries of the stolen infant. They were
faint and distant. They gazed down into the courtyard below just as
Lord Ostincair crashed into one of the roofs.
No comments:
Post a Comment