The Raven Chronicles

Welcome to the second installment of Raven Chronicles. Since we're still at the start, these are more new characters - I did warn you in the first part that there are a lot of POVs. :) There will be two more introductions in the third section before we move on from the first day of the story. Right now I'm trying to get some backstory out of the way so the relationships and history between all the courts and characters are clear and get everybody into position for what comes next.

I have received a few feedback emails I haven't been able to respond to, with either no return email address or the email address given was bad. You can contact me directly through the email address in my profile information if you like.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

ARIBI

DAYIEL

Dayiel accepted a few coins and handed over the last of his cheese and milk. He cast a glance at the darkening sky. The buyers in the market square had all waited until late afternoon to make their purchases, and he'd be late getting home. Azar would be waiting for him.

Don't talk to the birds, Azar.

Anxiety made his fingers shake as he closed the stall and readied the horse and cart for the journey home. The horse had long since given up speed. There was no hurrying the animal. Normally, that didn't bother him. He and the horse had been friends for years and understood each other.

The half-hour trip along a bumpy road was fast for the plodding horse, but still seemed to take hours. At home, Dayiel freed the horse from the cart and tended to him, glad for the familiar routine. Animals were easy to get along with. Their expectations were clear. Needs simply met.

Where was Azar? She normally rewarded the horse with a bit of apple, carrot, or sugar for bringing her father home safely. He left the horse in the barn and crossed the yard. The cottage remained dark.

"Azar?"

He pushed open the front door, already knowing his daughter wasn't home.

The forest.

The birds!

Dayiel sprinted toward the trees.

A rush of black feathers burst from the treetops, spiraling into the sky. A man with black wings. He carried something...

Someone

in his arms. Dayiel's mind wasn't the sharpest anymore, but he knew the color of his daughter's hair.

"Azar!"

The black-winged man disappeared, taking Azar with him. Streaks of orange, gold, and red flashed, then the sky was empty.

Dayiel fell to his knees, grief immobilizing his body.

What should he do? What

could

he do? He didn't have wings. Why did the birds hate him? He lived in a perpetual fog. He knew he didn't know all the things he should. Had he done something to the birds? He was a burden. Things had only been more confusing after Adeen went with the birds. And now Azar had gone with a bird, too.

He dropped his face into his hands and wept. A jumble of memories threatened to fracture his mind further -- fire, swords, wings, grotesque faces, screaming. Everything whirled together and swept him away, tearing his mind to pieces again.

The moon was high in the sky when he came back to himself. He shivered and climbed to his feet. What was he doing near the forest? He had to get home. Azar would be worried. If she came looking for him, she might wander in the forest and talk to the birds.

He hurried to the house. It was dark. Azar wasn't home.

Azar and black wings. Black wings stole Azar!

Pain spiked through Dayiel's head, dropping him to his knees as he struggled to remember. He had to remember. Flames. More wings. Swords. Blood. He held up his hands, stained a dark red.

Glancing down, he touched rough fingertips to his chest. Beneath the worn fabric of his shirt, the raised skin of his scars formed a map of his battles won and lost.

Scars?

He pulled his shirt over his head and ran his not-red hands over smooth skin. The scars seemed more real, even though he couldn't feel them anymore.

Dayiel staggered to his feet and stumbled into the house. He crashed into the rough, wooden table he and Azar ate their meals at, sending it sliding across the floor and knocking the chairs over.

Azar. Azar was gone. He had to save her. Where was his sword?

His sword?

Hidden.

The word drifted through his mind.

Why was it hidden? Where was it hidden?

As he reached for one of the toppled chairs, an image of the planks underfoot flashed before his eyes, spiking another stab of pain in his head. He shoved the table away and dropped to his knees again, searching the floorboards for the knothole. Was it real? Yes. There it was. He paused. If he pulled up the plank and found nothing, it would only confirm he was losing his mind. But if there was a sword under the floor, what did that mean?

Something like a song trilled in his head. Urging him to look. Calling him to action.

Dayiel held his breath as he slipped his finger into the hole and lifted.

Nothing happened. There was a hole, but it was empty and dark.

He laughed, the sound high-pitched and half sob as confirmation of his insanity loomed in that small space.

But that song in his head grew louder, more insistent. He had to quiet that music or it would drive him completely into madness.

He reached into the hole, unsure if he could trust fingertips that felt scars his eyes couldn't see. Or maybe be he shouldn't trust his eyes. He closed them.

Untrustworthy fingers touched metal. Dayiel's eyes flew open as his hand closed over a hilt and bright light flashed from the contact. The music crescendo-ed in his head.

Agony seared across his skin as the map of scars etched itself onto his body.

Dayiel pulled the sword...

his

sword out of the dark and held it up.

Its blade glowed silver, the hilt in his hand gold.

Memories snapped firmly into place, making him more himself than he'd been in decades.

There were more hidden things.

He pried up the surrounding floorboards, catching his breath as he stared. Silver armor gleamed, nestled in black leather. He stripped off his linen trousers and sandals to pull on the leather pants and boots. A strap holding a scabbard went over his head to lay cross his chest. He lifted each metal piece and held it to his body. The armor melded to him, covering his arms, legs, chest.

Rising to his feet, Dayiel sheathed his sword. Two lines of pain etched down his back, one on either side of his spine. He waited expectantly, but pain was all that came. What was he waiting for?

Shaking his head, only mostly convinced this was real, Dayiel headed for the door. He couldn't remember doing this before, but this felt familiar -- getting ready to go to war.

Maybe he was crazy, but he'd already lost Adeen.

Delusional or not, he was going to get his daughter back.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ABIBI/INISFAIL

ADEEN

Adeen sang to Dayiel as he worked throughout the day. He always watched birds warily, but, as usual, his gentle nature asserted itself, prompting him to offer crumbs of bread and bits of cheese in spite of his dislike and fear of anything winged -- even when she was only a songbird.

She longed for the day she could reveal herself to him. Since she'd had to use her phoenix side to resurrect after saving Azar, she'd appeared to him several times. But he associated her flames with creatures from his nightmares, and her appearance sent him further into his delusions.

They had been enemies when they met. Apparently, that memory wasn't buried as far as the rest.

She waited for Dayiel to close his stall for the day and hitched a ride home on the empty cart. The forest near their home was eerily silent as Dayiel pulled into the yard and tended to the horse.

Upon her death, Dayiel was meant to have taken Azar and moved to another town so she could return to them, but he never did. Losing her must have made the delusions he lived under worse. She dared not return to him as her human self. If anyone saw her, or he, in his delusions, mentioned she'd returned, nothing good would come of that.

In his condition, Dayiel had enough trouble with people. If they thought he saw spirits, or that his mind was nearer to breaking, they'd ostracize him.

If only they knew the warrior he'd once been, and the things he'd protected them from without their knowledge or appreciation. Humans thought spirits were the most terrifying things they might encounter because fighters like Dayiel stood between the true monsters and the rest of the world.

But they'd retired from those wars and paid dearly -- her, with a life, and him, with his mind, for a chance for their love to blossom.

So, she was stuck with birds forms. As a raven, Adeen could exchange a few words with Azar when the girl wandered in the forest. At first, Azar had been too young, or always accompanied by a guardian. Now, Adeen worried it had been too long, and Azar would hate her if she revealed herself. The more time that passed, the easier it was to remain hidden, but close.

Her daughter didn't know what they were. Wouldn't know what was happening or what she could do when her magic emerged.

A dark shape burst from the treetops. Half-man, half-raven, he carried Azar's limp form in his arms and flew straight up into the night sky. Where was he going?

"Azar!" Dayiel sprinted toward the trees.

Adeen abandoned the cart and flew after the birdman. The raven shifter was getting too far ahead. She didn't have the speed she needed in this compact form. With the risk of Dayiel seeing her, she burned her songbird form to ashes and became a falcon. Her new swiftness carried her close to her target.

The abductor tucked his wings close, flew into a tear in the sky, and disappeared.

Adeen veered away and glanced back at her husband. He knelt with his head down, crumpled to his knees. Her heart broke at the utter devastation he evinced. But what else could she do?

Her daughter had been kidnapped. Taken to another world. No way to know how long the portal would remain open. Dayiel had help from the neighbors here, and with his traumatized mind, he already thought her dead. He would be all right. Azar needed her more. She flew after the raven who had stolen her daughter.

Adeen let her long dormant phoenix side out of the cage she'd shut herself in years ago. Her falcon body burned to ash, and she unfurled into her larger orange, red, and gold form, as flame licked over her feathers. Her fire was only a dim glow, not as hot as it used to be, but her strength would return the longer she remained in this form.

A portal to another world. She'd seen enough of them in her life and had hoped never to see another.

She soared through the gateway.

Of the many worlds she'd traveled, this was not one known to her. Its magic felt heavy and only distantly familiar. Her hesitation had cost her. The raven man was a mere dot.

In the far distance, an ocean. Nearer, a black palace. Closer still, a tract of forest.

A flight of arrows launched from the trees. Her flames burned some. Others missed as she dodged.

Shouts reached her, even at the heights she rose to. A second volley of arrows flew at her. More of them than before. No way to avoid all of them.

Adeen willed her flames to burn hotter, but her magic was too weak.

She burned the tips and quarrels of three, but a fourth pierced her wing, and a fifth struck her chest. While the tip burned away, the wooden shaft skewered her before it too burned away.

Pain immobilized her wings. Adeen shrieked and fell from the sky, turning to ash before she hit the ground.

CHAPTER NINE

THE DHIBIR COURT

BEIRA, QUEEN OF WINTER

The Queen of Winter raised her hammer and channeled magic to increase the tempest. Overhead, more clouds added to the mass of those turning in a circle as they darkened from light to dark grey. Thunder boomed and lightning ripped across the sky. Winds lifted her from the mountaintop and carried her above the storm, where she stared at the full Long Nights Moon, also a Blue Moon -- the second full moon of the month. There would be magic rampant in the world tonight.

The last two days of storms and sex had been building up to this -- the double moon on the longest night of the year and the start of winter, when her powers naturally heightened.

Tonight, death and blood would add to the mix, combining all the most potent magics. The culmination of the celebration in her castle would elevate her magic to a level she'd not experienced since before her banishment.

She held her hammer aloft, collecting lightning, thunder, and the light of the double moon. Power crackled over her skin, and she leapt from the sky.

As the clouds circled above, so the dark sea rotated below. Surrounded by standing waves, the massive whirlpool spun, revealing the basalt column on the sea floor. It was rare the whirlpool grew so large for so many days in a row. When uncovered, the grotto in the spire acted as a focus, collecting all the magic for miles around.

All hers, to do with as she pleased. It was the perfect time for casting the spell she'd been planning for two years to achieve the revenge she'd craved for decades.

Directing the wind to transport her to her castle atop Ben Nevis, she bypassed the towers and turrets of ice to soar into the banquet hall, where hundreds of men and women awaited her to commence the final night of festivities.

Some wore elaborate costumes -- a few next to nothing. Those in attendance from the start looked a little worse for wear, while others were... fresh.

She smiled in anticipation. Not for long.

A row of twenty women with differing hair colors, but sharing the traits of pale, luminous beauty and slender builds, wore floor-length dresses to hide their deer-hooved feet. The Baobhan Sith had a large part to play tonight.

Long tables draped in snow white tablecloths, and filled with thus far empty place settings, lined the length of the hall.

"Celebrants of the Winter Festival." Beira raised her hammer and sent forks of lightning dancing through the air. Catcalls and whistles greeted her as she landed on the dais at the head of the tables.

"Tonight, we take the first step on our journey home. Inisfail Fae call us Alba Fae. They think because they banished us when they were stronger, that we belong where we ended up. That they could rip us away from our home and we would forget!"

Hisses and boos rang through the crowd.

"But we are not Alba Fae -- we are the Dhibir. The exiled. And we will return to take what is rightfully ours!"

Rampant cheering echoed around the room.

Beria waved her arm in a sweeping gesture at the long tables. Platters of food and drink appeared. "Indulge yourselves." She picked up a goblet and raised it in a toast, adding in an undertone, "You'll need your strength."

More whistling and cheering as people took their seats.

Taking her place at the head of the tables, she followed her own advice and filled her plate. She'd need her strength for the spell she wanted to cast.

Shisti had been at the Raven Court for two years and hadn't snared the prince who would be king. While Beria hadn't forgiven the girl's father for what he'd done to their daughter, there hadn't been any point to wasting the opportunity having Shisti at court presented.

The spell Beira had placed on her daughter should be finishing now -- the fogs that protected Inisfail Fae weakening and thinning. Her magic would never have worked from the outside, but placed on a guest of the court, well, it was always easier to take down an enemy stronghold from within.

Two years gone by, and no heir. Not even a pregnancy. That was disappointing, and about all the time Beira had to waste. Who knew when The Morrigan would return? She was a much more fearsome adversary than her sons. If the Goddess of War and Death came back, things would quickly get infinitely more complicated.

When Beira's spell completed its dismantling work, she would be ready. Now to prepare.

Halfway through the meals, a squat man with shaggy red hair and saucer-shaped blue eyes, one of the many boggarts, indistinguishable from the others in the castle, made his way around the feasting crowd and sidled up to her. "Mistress, your guest has arrived."

"Good." Beira set her fork down and dabbed at her lips with a napkin. "Bring her to me."

He bowed. "Right away, Majesty."

Artemis made her entrance, pausing at the top of the stairs. Her long chestnut-colored hair hung down her back, and green eyes lit with poorly hidden interest scanned the room. She wore black leather straps and gold armor, more ornate than functional, that displayed swaths of bare golden skin. The goddess was in no danger here. Although her carefully guarded virginity might be, if she planned to stay for any length of time. There was no shortage of men and women happy to relieve her of such a... burden.

The virginity of a goddess would add power, and an ironic touch, to the spell.

"Artemis." Beira touched the back of the seat next to hers. "Welcome to our festival. Sit, and we can talk."

Hundreds of eyes fixed on the Goddess of the Hunt as she made her way to the proffered chair. Artemis filled a plate, a ubiquitous servant poured wine, and the goddess started her meal.

Beria sipped from her goblet. "Will you stay for the whole celebration?" Virgin the goddess may be, but far from innocent. She'd partaken of pleasure in Beira's court before. It was no coincidence the goddess had arrived tonight of all nights.

"Perhaps." Artemis' lips twitched in a half-smile."I wanted to check in and see how things are progressing. Gaia is growing... impatient. She wants the satyrs."

"Not to worry." Beira pushed her plate away, eager to get on with things. "My magic is shredding the fog around Inisfail Fae territory as we speak. Rally your Amazons. I'll be able to open a portal for them soon, and they can hunt satyrs to their hearts' content. Gaia's vengeance for Echo will be complete."

"I love a good hunt." Artemis sipped her wine. "Gaia will be pleased with this news."

The midnight hour would be upon them soon. Beira stood and clapped her hands once. Tables and chairs vanished to make room for dancing. Musicians moved to their spelled instruments, and music drifted through the hall. Dancers paired up, and the waltzing began.

Every touch, step, emotion, and breath caught by the music added potency to her magic.

Catching the eye of a Blue Man across the hall, Beira inclined her head toward Artemis. The man's eyes lit up, and he turned his attention to the goddess. He moved toward her with a singular predatory grace, muscles flexing under his blue skin.

For a moment, Beira regretted not keeping him to herself, but she'd get more power from the pleasure of others tonight.

"For me?" Artemis purred.

"I thought you might like him. The Blue Men are infrequent visitors to my court. He should satisfy your taste for an exotic curiosity."

"He does look good enough to eat." Artemis allowed herself to be lifted from her chair and swept into the throng of dancers.

The waltzing changed from formal to manic. Formal costumes shredded under hands eager to touch flesh. New rhythmic motions took over, moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin replaced the music.

Beira felt every stroke, caress, thrust, kiss, and orgasm as if it was happening to her.

"Ladies." Beira leaned forward in her chair. As one, every Baobhan Sith glanced up from her partner. "It's time."

The vampires laughed and drew sharp talons across the necks of their partners.

Blood magic added to the sex magic, making the atmosphere in the room even more heady.

Beira reached into the earth for the tunnels through the mountain that ran deeper, under the sea, to the basalt column in the center of the maelstrom. She opened herself to the store of magic waiting for her.

The first thrust was almost too much, more pain than pleasure as power forced itself inside her. She swallowed convulsively as magic slid down her throat, then gasped as pure energy lifted her from her seat to float in the air.