Stones of Obsidian (Prologue) (W.E. 27)

(Write a prologue to something you've been working on.  You may already have a prologue you started, edit that.)

Prologue

A dark man stood by a burning fire, his shadows strewn upon the stone walls and stone flooring, surrounding a dungeon like space.  The only sounds that could be heard were the crying of a baby held within the man’s arms and the crackling of the wood as the fire burned it into charcoal. The air smelled of smoke and the room contained a stale smell as if it'd been closed off for months with people living within its walls.  The smell of smoke couldn’t staunch the foul odor.

The man wore a tunic and a pair of pants colored like charcoal embroidered with gold, and a cloak made of crimson. His hair was short and black, spiked in such a way, that if it were touched would prick. He fashioned a trimmed beard and mustache, looking that of royalty, though he wasn't. His eyes were hazel, the color of drying bamboo from the orient. "There there my son. All will be well." His voice echoed in the vast expanse. He was alone, apart from the child in his arms who even at his father’s voice, refused to stop crying.

The door just across from the fireplace opened, with a loud squeak and clunk as it was closed behind the welcomed interruption of thought.  Loud footsteps thundered on the stone floor.  It sounded as if a large bear were approaching.  "Give me the child." The woman commanded.  "Yes, my beloved."  The man responded gently as he handed the child to the very robust woman.  She was a fair bit shorter than the man, as he stood at 5'7", and she at only 5'3".  Her skin was very fair, just as the puffy white clouds on a very sunny spring day with no chances of rain.  Her eyes were as blue as forget-me-nots, and her hair as golden as horses hay.  Upon her was a dress of lavender, which, considering their very poor state, must have been stolen.

"One day all the land shall be ours my son, and then you won’t have a tear left to shed." The woman spoke with hubris, so softly one could only hear her if they stood closely with ears open in expectation.  "Of course my dear, none shall stop us.  All we need is a little magic." The man responded with a grin of complete and utter malice. "I shall eliminate all who oppose us."  The child continued to cry despite the efforts of his parents, until the woman put her teet within its mouth, which it wickedly began to suckle.

It was obvious the woman was pregnant with child again on this spring day. She was due in just a fortnight.  Though robust on a normal occassion, she had a little bun in her oven waiting to escape.  “You shall have a brother, and together you shall rule the land.”  The woman spoke to the child, as if he understood every word; he was beginning to walk, and every so often fell to the floor, but he never cried.  He looked up at her with big blue eyes full of wonder.  The boys hair was short and blond.

“It is so then?  Our next child will be a boy also?”  The father asked, putting his hand to the mother’s womb affectionately.  “Indeed.  I made a visit to Calendula.  She believes this is so, with no doubts.”  The mother responded and a smirk spread across her lips.  “She wasn’t so eager to see me.  She spoke to me as if I were the dirt under her own feet. One day she’ll be within the dirt under mine.”

“Calendula, see to it that you look at my womb. I must know, is this child a boy?”  The robust woman spoke as if the world were meant only for her.  “Why must you come here Sauterelle?  Is there no other healer that will see to you?  I told you upon your last visit, never to return.”  The woman was wrinkled with brown hair beginning to grey.  She looked to be about 45, and her right hand contained vicious scarring upon its surface.  It had been a lesson learned by a child playing with fire.  Upon her right cheek was a blemish appearing to be cancerous, possibly due to a prolonged amount of sunlight.  She stood at 5’1” with a body not overly round, nor slender, she was something in between.  Her hair was thinning about her shoulders, and ran down to mid back.

“Don’t call me that old woman!  You must call me Elle if you must speak my name at all!”  Sauterelle spoke viciously, as if death were pouring from her lips.  “Very well, Elle.  I wish for you to leave, but I see that you won’t until you’ve gotten what you’ve come for.  Lie down.”  Calendula instructed the robust woman to lie on the bed, and she was all too happy to oblige.  Once she lay down Calendula sat on a stool near the bed, hovering her hands above Sauterelle’s womb with closed eyes and a look of concentration.  Her brow furrowed before a smile spread across her lips as if she knew something she wasn’t eager to discuss with the woman on the bed.  “It’s as you want.”  Sauterelle wasn’t very perceptive, and didn’t think anything of the smile upon the old woman’s lips.

The old woman opened her eyes and stood from the stool, walking over to her herbs upon a shelf before her.  The shelf was covered in jars of many shapes, sizes and colors.  Herbs not found in these parts were contained within these jars, as well as long since eliminated herbs, and easily found ones alike.  “Now be gone before I call upon my husband’s corpse to be rid of you.”  Calendula’s scarred hand reached out to a jar that could be used to help rebirth the dead, within its depths was an orange-red fluff with spiked ends that contained blackened tips.  One not having seen this herb might assume it had molded.

Sauterelle stood at the door, about to leave and she turned around leaving behind only a deathly glare at the old woman.  Calendula wasn’t paying attention to her any longer, and was proceeding to gather herbs.  Then, when the door creaked and slammed shut she relaxed.  She wasn’t afraid of Sauterelle, because with her magic almost nothing could harm her, but it was always better to be safe than sorry at her age.

“Dear child, let the creator protect you from the evil of your family, you are meant for great things.”  She sighed and added herbs to the boiling water at her fireplace.

With the squeak of the door as it opened once more, the man left the stone room.  Into the night he strode on a mission.  Not just any kind of mission, but one of blood.  It was as if his thirst was vampiric, and blood the only quencher.  If one were to look at the moon this night, they might, if they looked hard enough, see the blood ring around it.

The man strolled up to the highest cliff he could find, one he'd frequented every night in hopes of seeing a familiar distant flicker.  He looked out upon the vast forest below seeking out a victim, perhaps a party of many, he loved a challenge.  In the distance he saw the light of a campfire, and felt the rage burning inside of him, a thirst only his dagger could fulfill.  The distance wasn't too great so he glided with a lazy pace, yet quite clumsy at times.  He often tripped in the darkness over tree roots, but did his best to obtain his need to be discreet. His eyesight wasn't at it's best, it never truly had been, being partially blind in his right eye.  As he walked he let his hatred fuel him.  He thought of his torturous past.

"GODS BE DAMNED BOY! WHY MUST YOU MAKE ME BEAT YOU SO?"  His father scolded, holding his black worn leather belt within his hand so tightly that his knuckles became white.  Another lash came down upon the boys back and he cried out in agony, he was merely 13 years old, but with many scars upon his back from many much deserved beatings.  "Please father.  Stop!  He's had enough!"  A small girl of but 10 years old cried out with tears rushing rivers down her cheeks.  She was terrified when her father beat her brother with such ferocity.  The only thing she could see in her father was a fueling hatred, an ominous darkness.  She remembered many times when the blood from her brother’s back found itself in droplets upon the wooden floor of their small cabin.  Her eye was red and swollen, it would soon blacken. The fist that had struck her was not her fathers but the very own boy she was trying to protect from the cruel abuse.  The leather belt continued to pound down upon the boys back with a crack.  Finally it was done.

"No more will you beat me father."  He laughed out viciously, not yet close enough for his victims to hear.  "Not from the grave I've pissed on."  He continued his laugh full of malice for just a few more moments.  "You had it coming father, just as mother did."

It was winter and the ground was covered in snow.  A man with curly black hair, a receding hairline,  and hazel eyes was staring at his son in between gathering wood for splitting.  They were in the middle of the forest, and there was an old stump perfect for chopping wood.  “Whether you like it or not, you have to chop this wood.  Your mother is ill and she needs to be kept warm.  I must go hunting and I won’t return for a couple of days.”  The man was gathering wood, and turned his back to the 16 year old boy.  “You think you can tell me what to do father?”  The boy asked the man who spun around swiftly.  The man’s face was quickly reddening.  “Are you going to disobey me again boy?”  The man started to undo his belt, but he was too slow.

The axe arced through the air too swiftly for the man to react.  Blood spewed from the man’s neck, squirting the boy in the face.  Red now began to cover the white floor of the forest, giving it some much needed color to its dreariness.  The man’s head toppled to the ground rolling into the stump.  Finally it lay still, mouth and eyes wide open.  Soon, his body hit the ground, blood pouring from the neck that once connected to his head.  A pool of red started to form around the upper body of the now dead corpse at the boys feet.

The boy was wide eyed.  The warmth upon his cheeks gave him comfort.  He had done it, finally he’d killed his father who beat him so traumatically as a child.  His heart beat rapidly in his chest, with a sense of fear, and at the same time, a sense of freedom.

The boys foot connected with the skull of his now dead father, and sent it flying into the woods.  He laughed maniacally as he headed toward his home in the opposite direction.  It was too much of a bother to wipe away the blood from his face, so he didn’t.  He was dragging the axe in the snow, and for a while it left a trail of blood in its wake.

Finally the boy reached the cabin, and could see the fire inside.  Leaning the axe upon the wall near the door, he entered, heading directly to the fire.  He grabbed the fire poker.  Eyes found their way to his mother lying beneath the covers upon the bed, her face toward the wall, fast asleep.  “Need more warmth mother?”  He spoke softly with emptiness.  With the poker he distributed burning wood about the floor before he exited.  

Feet connected with the snow calmly as he walked away from the building, turning only to watch for a few moments.  Once it had become ablaze, he ran through the woods, a smile upon his lips, and laughter filling his lungs. Trees flew by him as his boot covered feet connected with the snow, until he came to the river.  A hill sloped down toward the flowing river and he lost his balance and slid down the hill crashing into the freezing waters below.  Laughter continued to escape his lungs as he gathered himself from the wet abyss and continued up the opposing embankment.

He was free from the torment of his parents.  Though he had a sister, he figured she would die without their parents, and he didn’t care, for he wanted her to suffer more than his parents had.  In his mind he felt the abuse he’d gone through had been her fault entirely.

The man stepped closer to the light of the burning fire and listened to the voices he'd heard.  It was only a small boy of maybe 7 and what appeared to be his father.  Travellers.  It was the perfect prey, one that could be forgotten by the simple possibility of a mere wolf or bear mauling.  The man by the fire contained hair of auburn, and the boy’s hair was just slightly lighter in color.  Looking at their faces, there was no doubt the two were related.  The only difference was age.  Anyone looking upon them might think they were the same man from two different time periods; they were so similar in features.  Both their noses were quite round, and their cheeks puggy.  

He continued to listen on, and his ears perked up as the man told his son a story.  "Many years ago when magic was in more abundance, in a time when it was used as much more than street acts, and thievery..."  Before he could continue the boy interrupted.  "How long ago is that father?"  He asked.  "Around 33 years ago."  The father responded.

The ominous man creeping in the shadows continued to listen, but looked into the man’s eyes and he could tell that the man was unsure of the exact date and was only making a guestimation.  "The wizards of an order called the MajaeKelai gave 4 stones of obsidian magical properties..."  Again he was interrupted by the boy.  "What kind of magic?"  The boy asked unable to keep his mouth shut.  "If you'd let me continue, you shall know! Silly boy!"  He pulled the boy close to him on the log and ruffled his hair.  The boy squealed out in delight.  It was a simple act of affection, and the man in the shadows felt his rage fueling once again, for he didn’t know that kind of love from his own father.  

He was losing his patience, but something told him to wait. "The MajaeKelai were not all good people, much like the thieves you see today.  About half of them were pure evil.  Lucky for us, the strength of magic isn't what it use to be.  No, the magic then was fearsome, gruesome, and even now, shards of it remain.  These evil brethren were called the Hocai, and they could create an abundance of wickedness, enough to make little boys terrified beyond their own imaginations.  The wickedness they often created was demonic, or what most of us believe to be taken from the world of the damned.  Some call this Necromancy.  

The better half of the MajaeKelai were called the Alecai, and they used magic for the purposes of good.  All Majae could manipulate one element, Earth, Wind, Fire, or Water.  Before the MajaeKelai split into Hocai and Alecai, they were one group, called the Majae.  The Majae created the Quatar to save the world from a burning fire that rained from the heavens.  The Quatar were stones of obsidian made from the formidable volcano of Nixis.  Each of the stones contained one element, Earth, Wind, Fire or Water.  These stones didn't have ordinary properties, combined, they could bring about a strong power, and could be used for both good and evil, depending on the controller’s deeper desires. When the fires from the sky fell, the Majae combined the stones with an incantation, of which, I am uncertain.  It is told to be long lost in a scholars fire."

The boy looked up at his father.  "Wow, do those stones really exist father?"  The man smiled, "I believe so, but the stones were separated long ago, and if anyone knows the whereabouts of them, I am uncertain."

It appeared the man had told his son all that he knew of the stones, and was putting his son down to sleep.  The lurker of the shadows descended upon his prey, with hatred flaring in his eyes.  He had a burning desire to get his nightly taste of blood.  He descended upon the man first who tried desperately to save the boy.  "Please, he's just a boy.  If you must rob me this is all I have."  He threw his coin purse at the foot of the man who just laughed.  "Money is sweet, but I would have taken it...once you were both dead."  His tongue lurched out of his mouth and touched the tip of his blade which was so sharp it pricked his tongue and made it bleed.  His tongue slid over his lips leaving a trail of blood, which was followed by a vicious bloody toothed smile.

"Who are you?"  The auburn haired male asked in horror.  He'd never seen such a crazy man in all of his days, for if he had he would have long since died, and wouldn't be here to witness the most unfathomable fate that lay before him.

"I'd like nothing more than for the last word you hear to be my name....Daevin."  He grinned and within seconds the man’s throat was slit and he was bleeding out, he feared for his son, but it was too late.  

He wasn't so quick with the boy.  The boy screamed in terror and Daevin covered the boy’s mouth with his hand.  "Come now boy, this will only hurt...a lot."  One by one he removed the boy’s fingers.  The more the boy squirmed and the more he cried out the more Daevin felt joy.

Daevin’s sister was only 13 years old when she saw the smoke from the fire rising from what she knew was the direction of home.  She was within the village, gathering herbs from the young healer Calendula, who at the time was 34 years old.  “Mother.”  She gasped, and Calendula’s eyes followed hers to the smoke within the wood.

“Wait, child!”  Calendula tried to grab the girls arm to stop her, but it was too late.  Her feet hit the mud of the village floor and headed toward home.  Before Calendula could follow she had to get other help.  She went to Kaelum, the town’s patriarch, and told him to gather some men to help extinguish the fire burning in the wood.  Then, Calendula went to her own home, to her familiar shelf and gathered all the herbs that might assist in healing burns.

When Calendula finally made it to the forest, she found the girl on her knees in the snow; the wooden cabin was scorched to the ground.  Men surrounded the building, extinguishing every last flame.  There was nothing left.  The air was thick with the smell of burning wood, and burned flesh.  From her position Calendula could see the skeleton of a person, with flesh still hanging from the body.  The body she assumed had been the mother of the young girl.  She rested her hand on the girls shoulder to comfort her, and the girl got up and ran into the forest, in the direction she knew her father and brother should be working.

The next thing Calendula heard was a scream from the young girl, and dropping her bag of herbs she ran to the girls aid.  Once she arrived she saw the bloody sight of the man on the ground, a body without a head.  “My dear creator.”  The woman said and grabbed the girl shielding her from the scene before her.  “Mother.  Father.  What has happened to you?”  The girl cried out, her heart was breaking in more directions than one should ever have to deal with at such a young age.  Tears overcame the girl and she sank to the snow.  “Come child.”  The woman said, taking her hand.  “Let us be away from this place.  It has been covered in something sinister.”  

The girl followed Calendula, into the home that smelled of herbs and spices.  “I didn’t see my brother.  Has someone taken him?”  The girl spoke finally, sniffling.  Calendula shook her head and put a pot of water to boil.  “No child, there were no signs of a struggle.  You mustn’t go looking for him child.  The wickedness has taken him now.”  The woman warned as she made calming chamomile tea for the girl who sat on the bed.  “It will be alright.”  The girl shook her head furiously.  “No. Mothers gone, so is father.  I have nothing left but my brother.  I must find him.”

Calendula sighed and told the girl to sit at the table and she sat the steaming cup of tea in front of her.  She sat herself at the opposite side.  “Tonight, when the moon arises, I shall bring you a gift.  I fear I can only bring you one, though I know you’d like two.”  Her scarred hand reached out to the girl and lay to rest on top of the girls shaking one upon the tabletop.  “Tell me, what is your name dear?”  The girl took a sip of the steaming tea after blowing it.  “Talitha.”  The woman’s eyes lit up as if in knowing, a new understanding.  “I shall bring your mother back to you, Talitha.”

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Authors Note:
This is the prologue to a book I am working on.  I have to figure out what I want to happen next.  Feed back would be nice on this though.  Please tell me what you think, what do you like? What did you not like?