.:: DHBC : Sample Chapters
Below are the three sample chapters of DHBC currently available in their entirety.
Prologue
Part One: Chapter One
Part One: Chapter Two
.:: Prologue
Kiri shrieked in terror as the soldiers hauled her outside and to a cart, a cage mounted upon it. The door to the cage was open, waiting for her. She twisted in her captors’ rough grips, trying to pull her arms free. As they forced her out of the large tent that was her home, she tripped and fell. The soldiers continued on, tugging at her arms roughly.
“Kiri!” the younger of her two sisters yelled from inside the tent. “Let Kiri go! She didn’t do nothing!”
The older of the two knelt, holding her sister as she tried to follow Kiri and the soldiers. “No, Mitsu,” she said, her voice filled with terror, “they’ll take you too!”
Outside, Kiri’s father, Merlo, argued with the captain. “She’s not a danger to anyone,” he said, following the captain as he walked to the cage.
“Maybe, maybe not. It doesn’t matter,” the captain stated. “The law is very clear. If anyone displays the traits of the Shiroishikoi, they must be locked away. It’s for the good of the empire.”
“But she’s done nothing to harm anyone or anything,” Merlo pleaded, grabbing at the captain’s shoulder. “She’s lived with these… these abilities, for fifteen years! Why do you suddenly have to take her away and lock her in some kind of cell?”
Whirling around to face the girls’ father, the captain snapped, “It’s the law. The law states that all displaying those ‘abilities,’ as you call them, must be removed from society as soon as they lose the protections of childhood at the age of fifteen. She has four years to lose those abilities, but if the tribunal finds that she has not, she’ll be executed.”
“You can’t possibly enforce such an unreasonable law,” Merlo said, grabbing for the captain’s sleeve again. “She’s done nothing. She was born like that.”
The captain grabbed Merlo’s hand, holding it between them and twisting it painfully. “Your other daughters show the same traits. I suggest you break them of that before they end up in the same position,” he stated coldly. He shoved Merlo away and walked to the cart, mounting one of the horses waiting in front of it.
Kiri continued screaming as the two soldiers that held her finally shoved her up into the cage. She clutched desperately at the bars, trying to force them open as one of the men shut the lock on the door. “You can’t do this,” she hollered. “Let me out!”
The bars between her hands began to glow a deep purple. One of the soldiers reached out and jabbed her hand with a needle, injecting her with a fast-acting sedative. Her grip loosened on the bars and she fell to the floor of the cage, unconscious.
The captain called back to the other men to move out. All of them kicked their horses into a brisk gallop and rode off across the icy tundra that made up the border between the fiery deserts of Alangashal and the frozen North. They headed on the rough path south, towards Alangashal’s capital.
Merlo watched until he could no longer see the group as even a speck on the horizon. He turned and walked into the tent. Mitsu lay off in a corner, sleeping on a pile of furs. Dry trails of tears streaked her face and she hiccupped quietly in her sleep every few minutes.
Merlo paid no attention to his three-year-old daughter, though, walking immediately to a rack on the far side of the huge tent. He took down a satchel and began filling it with supplies he’d need for a journey. “Atari,” he called.
His second oldest daughter walked over to him and looked up at his face. “Yes, father?”
“I’m going to follow them,” he said quietly, shoving a loaf of bread into the satchel. “I’ll have one of the women in the village come in to check on you and help you cook. I’m sure they won’t mind caring for you for a while after all I’ve done here.”
“But father—”
“No, Atari,” he said, turning to face her. “I have to go. I need to do what I can to get Kiri out.” He knelt in front of her, looking into the young girl’s eyes. “I won’t do anything bad, Atari. I’ll be back in a few weeks. But even if there’s nothing I can do for Kiri, I’ll see if I can at least talk to her. She’ll need comfort.”
Atari nodded, bravely fighting back tears. “Tell Kiri that Mitsu and I love her,” she said quietly. “I’ll take good care of Mitsu, and you have to take care of yourself.”
Merlo gave her a tiny smile. “Of course, Atari,” he said, standing and hugging his daughter. “Now, I’ve got to go.” He bent and kissed her forehead, and walked over to where Mitsu slept. He sighed and, stooping, kissed her cheek. “Goodbye, my girls.”
Merlo turned and walked out of the tent, heading to where the small family kept their horse. He mounted and took off, following the hoof prints left by the soldiers and the tracks in the road made by the wheels of the cart.
Atari stood in the entrance of the tent, watching her father go. In one day, her tiny family had been torn apart, all because of a law meant to wipe out any trace of a species that no longer existed.
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.:: Part One : Chapter One
Balrick landed softly in the sand, sending it spraying in all directions. Beneath his feet, it was still hot from desert sun beating down on it. He folded his wings around himself, shielding his body from the chilly night air with the thin leathery membrane. Though temperatures were unbearably high in the day, when the sun fell, the heat fled and the world was icy cold by midnight.
Balrick looked north towards a dark smudge that marred the perfection of the sand dunes rolling off into the distance. The smudge was Ratokai’s capital city, and rising at its center was Castle Ratokai, home of the territory’s king, Itak. The castle itself sat atop a small rise and towered into the sky with the city encircling its base.
Normally, both castle and city gleamed in the night with thousands of tiny lights. Now, they were a dark shadow, abandoned by their inhabitants for the cooler area nestled into a curve of the Niir River. There, the city’s Kodishin inhabitants reveled in a religious rite that lasted for three days.
That was where Balrick found himself. He’d searched the city to see if anyone had been left behind from the festival. When he’d found that only a small group of guards remained to patrol the streets, he’d flown off into the night in search of the festival, and the huge bonfire it would be centered around.
Balrick walked in amongst the tents that encompassed the actual festival, and made his way through the haphazard arrangement to the fire itself. A circle of eight stone archways had been built around it in the age where the Ratokian Kodishin had emerged; the archways themselves were twice the size of even the tallest of Kodishin, and four wooden ramps led up to their top from each direction. Around it, all the citizens of Ratokai, and many traders of the Ratokai tribe who had made their way there for the festival, were seated, watching the display before them.
Around the bonfire, fourteen young men and women danced to the drums beating off to one side. The women would leap from one partner to the next and pirouette. Their partners would grab them about the waist and spin with them before setting them down to continue on to the next. They were all dressed in red and black with gold ornaments that glinted in the light from the fire.
As Balrick watched, a man ran up the ramp from the north. He ran across the tops of the archways clockwise and ran down the eastern ramp. Nine girls waited there, set off from all the revelers by their white robes. As the man approached, they scattered, running haphazardly in every direction into the crowd.
The man watched for a moment, then, spreading his wings, let out an eerie cackle and took to the air. He hovered only feet above most of the crowd, and he darted so quickly above their heads that many had trouble keeping track of where he was.
Suddenly, he dove down towards one of the flecks of white in the sea of red and black. The crowd cheered. The girl dropped to her belly and he had to swoop up to avoid crashing into the sand and people below him. He snarled at her and turned sharply in the air, heading for another.
The assembled Kodishin cheered again and this time he grabbed her about the waist. She fought him but he managed to make it to the circle of stone archways. He pulled her, struggling every step, to the side facing west, towards the cliffs where the Ratokai tribe first found its wings and where the sea met the land.
From Balrick’s position between the northern and western ramps, he had not been able to see her approach, but now she made her way up from the south to the western ramp. Fylynia, the high priestess of Ratokai, walked in her stately gait to where the man stood grappling with the struggling girl.
She was resplendent in a blood red robe, accented with black. Gold jewelry dripped from her hands, ears and throat. The priestess was a tiny woman, coming up only to the shoulders of most Kodishin, but she held herself in such a way that her height did nothing to diminish her commanding presence.
The man who faced her, Itak, the Sand King of Ratokai, was in direct contrast with Fylynia. He towered head and shoulders over her, and while she appeared fragile with tiny shoulders and porcelain-pale skin, his taut muscles rippled beneath his bronzed skin. He wore only a black loincloth with fringes at its bottom that dangled with clicking gold beads.
Fylynia looked at the girl Itak held in his arms. She still pushed feebly at his chest, trying to get free. Fylynia reached out with one child-like hand and placed it on the girl’s forehead. Instantly, she collapsed limply in Itak’s arms.
The high priestess looked at Itak and extended her hand out to him, placing it over his heart. “Sand King, Lord of Ratokai, you have chosen and won your consort for this year. Do you request of me my blessing?”
Itak bowed his head. “As the priestess must bow to the will of the king as priest, so must he bow to her will. Will you, high priestess, grant this union your blessing for the year?”
Fylynia stared at him for a moment then turned in a slow, graceful circle, arms extended to include all the assembled people. “I bless this union of king and young priestess with good fortune. May their union bring peace and prosperity to our land for the coming year, else let us consecrate the land in the red blood of our warriors, the black shadow of revenge, and the gold riches of the conqueror.”
The hairs on the back of Balrick’s neck stood on end. “If only it were possible,” he thought to himself bleakly.
Itak laughed, picking up his new consort as he took off down the western ramp. Balrick started to follow him, then glanced up at where the high priestess still stood. Fylynia watched him intently, robes and loose hair whipping about her small frame in the wind. He winced as she turned away and headed back down the southern ramp towards her own tent. He turned back to where Itak had gone, and followed as quickly as he could through the crowds to the ornately decorated white tent.
Guards bearing the official seal of the king were stationed around the tent, keeping everyone far away from Itak and his new consort. Each carried a sword at his hip and held a knife in each hand, ready to defend the king with his life.
Balrick mumbled to himself, “Well, perhaps Itak isn’t ignoring the danger facing Ratokai. After all, this would be the perfect time for Dasin to strike. He’d have the city empty, the temple unguarded, and a large part of the population, including the king and high priestess, all in one convenient spot.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m surprised Itak would even allow for this large a festival this year. But why should I be surprised? It’s Itak.”
He walked up to the guard standing nearest the door, hoping he was the ranking officer. Ratokians would not mark their uniforms with ranks, since it would be too easy for enemy attackers to pick off the officers. Balrick could see the logic in that, but he really wished they would do that at times like this.
He looked the guard in the eye and asked, “Is Itak seeing anyone tonight?”
The guard looked to another standing on the opposite side of the door. That soldier stepped inside the tent. “No,” he said, returning. “He refuses to see anyone unless it is an absolute, immediate emergency. If it can wait until tomorrow morning, you’ll have to see him then.”
Balrick nodded and turned to leave when the first guard called to him. “Itak will be ready to see you just after the morning rituals tomorrow. What is your name?”
Balrick nodded and continued on, simply stating his name.
When he was out of earshot, the younger of the two guards turned to the other and whispered, “Isn’t he the leader of the rebels?”
He nodded in response. “Yes, he is. Maybe we should have let him see Itak.”
The younger of the two looked towards the entrance to the tent. “Should we ask him?”
His superior shook his head. “No, it’s too late now. Itak’s busy and we shouldn’t disturb him. Besides, we’d be lucky if we found Balrick again tonight.”
Balrick returned to the bonfire and followed the southern ramp to the high priestess’s tent. It was blood red and decorated in black and gold with the cobra that was the priestess’s seal. He stepped up to the most senior of the soldiers who surrounded her tent. He was her usual bodyguard, and he immediately recognized Balrick. “Sir, the priestess left instructions that only you and Itak be allowed to see her until daybreak tomorrow.”
Balrick nodded to him and ducked inside the tent. Immediately, his nose found the smell of roses, Fylynia’s favorite incense. He followed it into the cheerily lit central area of the tent. Fylynia sat there in front of a mirror, removing the golden combs that had held her hair up and back through the night’s ceremonies. She spotted him in her mirror and turned around to face him.
Balrick shifted his weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable in her steely gaze. “It’s been a long time, Fylynia,” he murmured. He knew the second the words had passed his lips that they had sounded dumb, and he sighed.
She remained quiet for a moment before replying. “Yes, Balrick. It has been. I trust you’ve been well.”
He nodded. “Yes.” He paused. “How is the baby?”
“Zeri is doing well,” she said, nodding towards a section of the tent blocked off with curtains. Balrick walked over to it and peered in for a minute at his sleeping daughter. He turned around to face Fylynia again.
“She won’t be a baby much longer, Balrick,” Fylynia said, her eyes averted from him. “And you have not been such a young man for a few years. When will you give it up, Balrick?” She turned to face him, tears brimming in her eyes.
“I can’t,” he said, his heart breaking for her, “not until Dasin is dead.”
“And Zeri and I cannot live without you,” she whimpered as the tears she had been holding back slipped down onto her cheeks. “Zeri needs her father and I my husband. I know this fight of yours against Dasin is important, but what about us, Balrick? Don’t we matter to you? Or are we always going to be a simple afterthought to you?”
Balrick stood off in the shadows, feeling helpless, as the tears streaked down Fylynia’s face, leaving wet trails of bare skin in her thick makeup. She curled herself into a ball, and began to wrap her wings about herself when he broke and moved to her, picking her up. He carried her to her bed and set her down on it. He knelt by its side and stroked her face.
“Fylynia,” he murmured. “Fylynia, please, my love. I’m here now. I’m here for a while. Please, let’s make the most of it.”
She responded with a sniffle and made room for him on the bed. He crawled on beside her and wrapped his arms about her. “No sense in worrying about what I can’t deal with until tomorrow,” he thought to himself. “I might as well enjoy tonight. At this rate, I might not see my own wife again for years.”
The sun had just appeared over the horizon as Balrick made his way to the white tent. Fylynia’s face haunted his thoughts. She had watched him intently as he’d washed and dressed for the day. She had looked so fragile to him, sitting among the pillows and blankets, dwarfed by the immensity of the bed. He sighed and tried to push her from his mind to focus on his work.
The guard he had talked to the night before was still there, and he moved aside the flap that covered the tent’s entrance. As he walked inside, Itak turned away from the mirror he’d been staring at himself in and locked eyes with Balrick. In the relative gloom of the tent, the whites of his eyes stood out starkly from the rest of him.
As his eyes adjusted to the room, Balrick could see the ritual garb Itak would wear for the rest of the festival: a black sleeveless robe trimmed in red that hung open in the front, black pants and matching boots, and a gold cuff on each wrist. The king held a brush in his hand and his black hair fell neatly around his shoulders, down to his waist.
Balrick broke the momentary silence. “Am I too early?”
Itak broke their eye contact first, turning his face aside. “No, Balrick,” he said, moving towards an ornate chair made of dark wood. He sat, hands curving gracefully around the ends of the armrests. “You had something you needed to see me about?”
Balrick nodded and removed a piece of paper from a pocket, which he handed to the king. “Sire, we have reason to believe that all Shiroishikoi blood may not be lost,” he murmured, bowing formally. “Or rather, the power that was held by the Shiroishikoi may not have been totally diluted with their extinction.”
Itak unfolded the paper and looked at it, assessing the information on it. “You believe that the Kirikians may have a few of their number with those powers?” He looked up to lock eyes with the rebel commander.
Balrick braced himself for the argument that would soon follow. “Yes, sire. We believe there might actually be many. The Alangalis have been committing genocide against all who display the proper traits, and if they are indeed the ones we are looking for, the numbers of those killed in this genocide indicates that there may be few left by the time we get to them.”
Itak’s red eyes glistened with laughter. “You know what this means, do you not?”
Balrick sighed. “Sire, it only means that there are descendants of the Shiroishikoi whose power has not yet been diluted. We’ve known for years that the Shiroishikoi existed, that they colonized other planets, and that we ourselves are descended from them. Just because a legend says that their Kirikian descendants will once again evolve if they are brought to Seishidaiko--”
“Ah, but it is not a legend, Balrick,” Itak interrupted. “It is an oracle!”
“Sire,” Balrick said, exasperated, “oracles can be wrong.”
“But this oracle, this prophecy,” Itak began wistfully, “it came directly from the first and greatest high priestess of Ratokai.”
“And since it’s about our revenge against Dasin and the bringing of justice into this land, it’s infallible,” Balrick muttered in resignation.
“Yes,” Itak said triumphantly. “The oracle says that the Kirikian descendants of the Shiroishikoi will come to Seishidaiko and from them will come the War Lords. And the War Lords will bring to this land the justice it has sought for so long.”
Balrick let himself fall onto a nearby pillow on the floor and held his head in his hands. “Fine, fine, just… let’s talk business, Itak.”
“Well?” Itak looked at him expectantly. “You have my interest. What is it you want?”
“I want to organize an expedition,” Balrick began.
The king repeated him and asked, “What kind of expedition?”
“The crew would be sent to Kirikai,” the rebel commander said, “to find someone, just one person, who has the traits of the Shiroishikoi. They will bring that person back and that person will help us defeat Dasin.”
Itak nodded slowly, absorbing it all. “But… why would this person help us? Fate will happen, but it needs a means of doing things.”
Balrick ran his hands through his hair. “You see, the Alangalis are attempting to wipe out the Shiroishikoi, and they treat those who are Shiroishikoi descendants as having a sort of madness. In Alangashal, that means they are executed.” Itak tensed, his whole body going rigid. Balrick noticed and looked at him cautiously. “Something wrong?”
Itak stared at him, hesitating. “It’s just… I feel like it’s getting too late.”
“You think she’s been killed?” Balrick asked.
“No,” Itak said thoughtfully. “No, not yet. She’s still alive and will be for some time, but I do think if we’re going to move, we must move with all possible haste.”
“I have a plan in the works that won’t take much time, but I might need some influence from you and Mataiya. You see, there’s a ship in King Senzar’s possession, created by the Seishidaiko for interplanetary transport between their colonies. It’ll only need to be refurbished once we have it,” Balrick stated, holding Itak’s eyes.
“Why not build a whole new ship? It could be easier,” the king said questioningly.
“Refurbishing this one will take less time,” Balrick said, “less time to let the whole plan fall through.”
Itak waited a moment before replying. “You have my backing, but we’ll need Mataiya’s support as you said. She’ll need to be convinced.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Is that all you needed to speak with me on?”
“Yes, sire,” Balrick said with a bow. He turned to leave but stopped, looking over his shoulder. “Just how much do you know about the girl in the prophecy, Itak?”
“Not much more than you, I’m afraid,” Itak whispered, “but I do know one important thing. Her name is…”
Screams and the sounds of feet trampling reached both just then, and Itak turned, grabbing up a dagger and tucking it into his boot. A young soldier fell through the entrance to the tent and ran to the king. “Sire, Dasin’s soldiers are attacking from the west.”
“Tell me about the city,” Itak ordered as he strapped on his vambraces.
“They’re only attacking the festival,” the soldier said quickly. “They’ve taken one captive and killed everyone else in their way.”
“Who’s the captive?” Balrick asked.
“The king’s consort,” the soldier said cautiously.
Itak snarled, grabbing up two daggers and running out of the tent. He took to the air outside and looked below at the city of tents. The king howled in anguish at the destruction below him as the screams of children and the smoke from burning tents drifted up into the sky.
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.:: Part One : Chapter Two
The festival was drawing to a close, the Ratokians trying to recover from the losses of the raid, as Itak entered the high priestess’s tent. On either hip he bounce two young girls, Zeri, the high priestess’s daughter, and Seyla, his own. He set Seyla and Zeri down, walking into the central division of the tent. He called out, “Fylynia?”
No response met him for a moment, but suddenly a loud groan ripped through the whispered silence of the tent. Itak threw back the cloth that made one of the divisions of the tent.
Fylynia lay behind the curtain, her body contorted unnaturally. Her back was arched to the ceiling, her right hand reaching for the clouds beyond the canvas of the tent. Her eyes were bloody, ragged holes within her skull and the crimson liquid that spilled out from them flowed into her black hair, lying matted against her skull. Her clothes hung from her stiff body, clothing and flesh torn viciously.
One seeing the sight of the high priestess, Seyla let out a high-pitched scream. The guards outside the tent rushed in at the sound.
“Get out,” Itak hollered at them, shoving Seyla into the arms of one of the soldiers. “Take the child and get out! Tell no one of what you’ve seen, and for the love of the gods, send for Balrick!”
The guards left hurriedly. Itak turned around and stared at the priestess and Zeri. Both remained as they were, completely immobile. “Go to her,” Itak rasped out at Zeri.
Zeri took a tiny, tentative step forward towards her mother.
Instantly, Fylynia sat up and grabbed the child’s face. Her joints cracked all at once with a sickening sound and her eyes and scratches began to bleed anew.
Zeri stood still, terrified but unable to move or to look away from the gaping sockets that once held her mother’s eyes. Blood from her mother’s hands slid down her cheeks but she was held fast by her mother.
“Listen well, young high priestess and you, King of Ratokai. Remember what I say here today,” Fylynia said. Her voice came out cracked and dry. “Kiri will bring about the age of the War Lords, but others come with her. Gods, all of them, both War Lord and not. They come to lead the three races. They come to bring balance to the worlds. Follow them, high priestess.”
Fylynia settled herself on her knees. The feverish aura about her vanished, leaving her an empty husk. “The prophecy has been given?”
“Yes,” Itak said, drawing Zeri away from her mother.
Fylynia nodded and sat with her head bowed. Her eyes stared blindly at the floor. “Balrick is coming?” Itak nodded. “Take Zeri away and clean her. Keep her safe until my ashes are scattered to the winds, and then make her high priestess.”
Itak nodded and ducked out of the tent, carrying Zeri. Fylynia remained motionless within the tent.
Balrick ran into the tent and looked at Fylynia. She looked so small and fragile kneeling on the rugs. The blood that covered her pale skin and the vacant sockets of her eyes shocked him. “Fylynia,” he whispered, picking up her tiny body.
She smiled gently at him. “I’m no longer high priestess, Balrick,” she murmured. “I gave my final prophecy. Now that is Zeri’s burden. The priests at the temple will care for her. I can follow you now, Balrick.”
“But you don’t have long to live, my love,” Balrick said as he laid her down on their bed. He quickly grabbed up a pitcher of water, a towel and a bowl. “You’ve lost so much blood… you’re still bleeding!”
“It will stop soon enough,” she said quietly. “I will live to see my prophecy begin to come to fruition.”
TBC
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