Erian Kitey Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The sky was greatly overcast with dark clouds as far as the eye could see. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the wind blew cool and crisp across her face, making her ears tingle. She glimpsed up through a break in the dense trees above to see the dark sky filled with the promise of rain.

Perfect.

The young girl hurried through the trees towards the edge of the clearing, excitement building in her movements like a wave hurtling to the shore. Long limbs leapt over small shrubs, and ducked under low hanging branches of the dark forest, hurrying towards the light at the far edge. Her heart beat hard in her chest, barely able to contain itself from the run and the anticipation of what was to come. Finally she reached the edge of the forest. The tree line stopped abruptly, and opened out into a perfectly circular field of pale yellow grass that swayed back forth in the breeze coming storm. The girl stopped just at the edge, taking a deep breath striving to calm her heart, and not daring to cross into the clearing. As soon as her breathing calmed she dropping to one knee, on the line between trees and field. Shadows at her back, and the light of hope reflexed in her eyes.

Tossing her long braid of black hair behind her, she reached over her left shoulder and grasped the silver hilt of a sword strapped to her back. Slowly, she pulled it from its scabbard. Even in the dim light of the coming storm the blade gleamed and hissed softly as she drew it from its resting place. Taking another deep breath she placed the blade to lay on the ground to her right, completely in shadow. She must not bear any arms when all began.

Her gray eyes flickered across the field, and for a moment it disappeared from her sight, and another vision took its place. Instead of the storm she heard the crash of the sea against the great stone fortress of her ancient home of Whitemarsh. She stood on the battlements over looking the sea, as she often had as a child, yearning for answers in depths. She sighed and turned to find her father, Lord Cathbhar Kitey, looking down on her. Beside him stood a tall warrior she did not recognize. His skin and clothing were so dark, he almost looked like her fathers shadow come to stand beside him. Erian stood tall and looked the stranger in eye. She was a Kitey and would not show fear in front of her father.

Her father eyed her for a moment as though seeing her for the first time. Gray eyes, the copy of her own, seemed saddened by something she could not place. He wore all black except for the a burgundy coat that drifted behind on the wind. His silver beard and hair completed the colors of the House Kitey. It was that image of him that Erian would carry the rest of her life, strong and proud.

“Erian,” he’d said slowly, “The time has come for you to begin your training. This is Kiroa, who is to instruct you.” He nodded towards the shadow at his side with a face still as stone. “All has been arranged, you leave at dusk.” He turned to walk away leaving her alone with the strange man. But before he was out of sight, her turned on last time towards her and said, “Goodbye daughter, may the will of the blade always be with you.” Then he was gone, and deep down Erian knew that it was the last she’d ever see of her father. The black shadow moved and beckoned her follow.

Her vision blurred again and she saw herself years later, eleven years old, weilding a plain silver sword against an invisible enemy, a shadow watching her in the background. She tripped, and fell to her knees emitting a cry as a sharp rock bit deep into the flesh of her knee. In a blink of an eye the shadow was there, the wicked curve of his own blade just under her chin. Fresh tears froze in her eyes and she got up, and began the dance of death with the blade again.

Other images flashed past of the next five years of training with Kiroa, some good and some bad. But she had learned, by the Spirits she’s learned, but in the end…Too late, oh too late. She was hadn't been ready. Her father’s death had been like drawing the bees to honey. She’d been only a girl if sixteen and her claim to the Kitey name worthless in the eyes of greedy men. Whitemarsh was stripped of the ancient name that had lived there since its creation. Its halls were filled with a different House and different colors.

She’d been bitter for a long time, but Kiroa had seen her through it, taking her into his care and away from Whitemarsh. He began to talk more and tell her stories of great warriors. Her favoirtes were of the legendary, f'hiarra, magical creatures created by the thoughts of men in a sacred place of the Spirits. One who could create and tame a f’hiarra could do anything. Erian had fed on the legends like one possessed. She’d collected every scrap of information she could about the legendary creatures that men had created to be their loyal companions.

Each one was different. Most took on some animal form, or became a new beast formed from others. To have her own f’hiarra to help her regain her heritage became her only goal. And now…it was time.

The field swam back into view, and Erian could feel the magic of the place on the air, the energy of the storm feeding it power. The sacred circle seemed like another world far away calling out to her, but she resisted. She could not enter the field until she had called and created her f’hiarra. To do so would mean her death.

Still on one knee, sword at her side she removed a small pouch from her belt. It was black, lined silver inside, tied with a burgundy ribbon, the colors of her House. Burgundy for blood, silver for the sword, and black for death. She smiled a little, and reached into the pouch pulling out a tiny, whitemarsh flower that only grew near her home. Its delicate petals fluttered in the wind and she released it into the airs embrace. It danced with the wind for a moment, then disappeared into the long grass of the field. She placed the pouch on the ground to her left. Next she reached up and plucked a stray hair from her own face and cast it into the wind as well. It was gone as quickly as the flower. Now she awaited the storm. Dark clouds brooded overhead, and then it fell. The first drop of rain from the storm, and her elements were complete. Taking a deep breath, and exhaling it over the field she bowed her head her head and began to murmur the words to the spell to create her f'hiarra.

Ana iwai,
Guardian of my soul,
Ana iwai
Companion lifelong,
Ana iwai,
Hear my song,
Ana iwai,
Companions against the wrong,
Ana iwai
Come.

As she spoke the words, and she prayed to all the spirits that she’d ever known. A lifetime later she would forever remember, but never be able to truly convey to anyone the way her heart felt in her chest when she heard the wind singing back to her. It took up her song and melded into one of its own. No more rain fell, save the first drop that began the spell. Such sweet music never touched her since, and to remember would bring tears to her eyes even far after it was all over. Erian raised her eyes and could see the song, taken from her heart, changed by the wind of the storm, the field, and shaped into life. Colors took life on the wind, the steel gray of the clouds, the black forest, the pale gold of the field, and even the silver of her sword, all intertwining together then coming apart again. Erian watched with wrapped amazement, and the colors took form.

Beautiful. No, not even the word beauty could describe what she saw before her. She swayed under the strength of the magic being worked, but she did not look away. Coming towards her appearing from the air formed of her dreams, her imagination, her hope was her f'hiarra, her soul companion.

She watched it take shape hoof beat by hoof beat. First silver and black intertwined to make strong hooves and graceful lines of sinewy legs made for agility and speed. Next powerfully sloped shoulders and muscular haunches came, all covered in an exquisite, dark shining, silver coat. The black flowed out in thin wisps pulled by the wind, to form a mane and tail dark as a raven’s wing. As she stared a child’s dream came to life. The neck was slightly arched in a proud crest, long mane cascading down the withers and down the face. Delicate ears and nostrils seemed to take in the entire world. Then, finally the gold of the fields melded with the dieing melody of the spell into two deep soulful eyes that looked straight through her and into her soul.

Every hurt and pain she’d suffered in her young life came flooding to the surface of her mind. She became dizzy with events that she’d thought long put away. Her fathers neglect, leaving her to never return, the pain of her training... She was re-living each moment up to the last, Kiroa’s death. HER FAULT...HER fault her mind screamed! The bombardment on her senses was so painful that she became lost, not knowing what was real and what was memory, all the while staring into golden eyes. She struggled to regain control, yet the darkness of her own memories held her fast. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was trying to understand why this great moment of her life was being filled with such memories. Tears flowed down her face, unconstrained, and she was ashamed.

Then as quickly as it began it stopped. She gasped for breath, and waited for more tears of pain to come and was surprised when they did not. The hollow ache in her heart that she’d never let anyone see was somehow eased, despite what had just happened. She dragged her eyes back to look at the gold ones of the horse standing on the field. Looking back into those eyes she understood. All the nightmares of child long neglected were not healed, but at least eased within those eyes. It had been painful but necessary for the f’hiarra to bring those memories to life in order for her to see, and to meet it with a mind clear of sorrow and full of understanding. She would never be alone again, never so long as it was near. Their pain was shared. The f’hiarra understood. It knew everything about her. Old wounds to her soul scarred over, never to be forgotten, but not to pain her any longer. The golden eyes were now filled with warmth, and she sighed as the pain left her.

Then it was only a step away. Yet still in the field of gold, and she still on bended knee in the shadow of the trees. She could not enter, not yet. The bonding process had begun, but there was still one last test she must pass for all to be complete. Slowly, the f’hiarra lowered his great head, black forelock falling to one side of the golden eyes, to her own face and breathed. For the first time since its coming, Erian closed her eyes.

Warm air continued to breath over her face. It smelled sweet, like the tiny whitemarsh flower she’d sent into the air earlier. Erian opened her eyes to look over her creation and was in awe. but then it hesitated and once again looked into her eyes. She felt it wanted something of and was waiting, questing almost. For what? No one had been able to tell her the details of what happened after a f’hiarra was created. It was an intimate bonding, which no one ever told. All she knew was that she could not be the first initiate contact. But Erian could feel that the f’hiarra was waiting for something, but what she did not know. Uncertainty swept over her, and before she could contain it, the f’hiarra felt it and moved a step away

No! No, please no. Don’t leave, her mind screamed!

More fear built inside of her as she remembered legends of f’hiarra’s that did not bond immediately. They turned into horrible terrors that rent havoc on all life, said to be constantly seeking their true creators.

No, that could not happen, what must she do! Her mind raced going back over every legend she’d heard about the f’hiarra. It backed away another pace. She was losing him. The gold eyes, so full a moment ago, were now unsure. Suddenly Kiroa came to her mind, like a spell. A lesson he’d taught her hovered in the back of my mind teasingly. A lesson he taught long ago to calm a frightened child. She took a deep breath.

Gather; all your scattered thoughts, even the underlying ones of your body.

Center;picture all those thoughts entering your mind, spinning together like a wild storm waiting to strike.

Anchor; all thoughts solidly into one. I am here, I am now, nothing else matters except this moment.

Then as her mind cleared and focused she understood. Though her f'hiarra knew all her memories for it’d been created from her mind, it was still separate from her and needed to come to be known as that in order to exist. She thought of the colors of her house, and the of the pride she held in her name. The were what she was, the last of the Kitey line. Her name…Kitey.

The answer came to her mind, quick as lightening. A name. Her f’hiarra must have a name. All she had to do is ask. She looked out into the field, into the golden eyes.

“Ana iwai na f’hiarra,” she spoke and the f’hiarra pricked its ears towards her, intelligent eyes waiting, “as my name is Erian Kitey, daughter of Lord Cathbhar Kitey, of the House Kitey, I would know your name."

She waited all hope on this moment, her life, Kiroa’s, her fathers, all depended on this.
Then eyes of the f’hiarra danced and he reared, and Erian thought all lost. But when he came back down to earth, she heard a whispering in her mind.

Ana iwai na Ardeth.

My name is Ardeth.