Antar

Grace rode her stride, purposeful and direct, her footfalls echoing down the dimly lit hallways of the silent castle, her eyes narrowed in thought, her skirts rustling around her ankles. High necked, the dress she wore was black, a symbol of death and mourning for a nation.



Day 39

Death still reigns, it’s conquered, lines the streets. The air, stagnant with the scent of decay, a muted testimony of lives lost to a silent slayer. A virus wielded like deaths sickle.

Among the dead, piled high, a virus rages that cannot be cured, and will surely destroy all here.

Many have fled, a vain attempt at self-preservation, but I have no doubt that they too will soon be claimed.

All endeavors to create a vaccine have failed, and I fear that I am next to be concurred by an illness that have already claimed Zan and Rath - my son, and another who I always thought of as my own.

Rath came to me at the young age of five, after his parents died - his father, Rine, in battle, his mother, Elyn, of a broken heart. His mother was my lady in waiting and my best friend and I found myself unwilling to let him be raised by the strangers who were Elyns distant cousins, so I raised him as my own. And he’d been a boy, only fifteen, like my son, on the verge of becoming a man when the plague claimed his life.

He was the first to die, my son was the second, dieing only days after Rath had. We buried them quietly, side by side on royal soil. They’d been bonded, and they would lie in death as they had in life, together.

Seventeen more died, commoners and royal blood alike, before word of a plague swept the kingdom and rocked it’s people. One death a day soon became four, then seven, then ten. We no longer count, far to busy with the task of trying to find a place for the bodies to do so.

Our once bustling city streets are barren now, silent except for the occasionally sounds of weeping, coughing, or a death rattle, now more familiar to our ears then our own breathing.

Most of our people are dead, or dying, or simply waiting too.




The tiny white room smelled sharply of cleaning fluid and illness. Her hands shook at her side as she entered, quiet wheezing echoed in her ears as she took a seat.

A tremulous breath shuddered from her lungs as she stroked the stray blonds hairs that clung to with sweet to her daughters forehead back. Her skin was clammy, warm and slick to the touch, but she didn’t pull away, distantly fearing it would be the last caress she’d ever give her daughter and silently aware that it would be.

Slightly twitching, her daughters body shook the gurney, and she knew, had she more energy she would writhe in pain, but strength had all but fled her body, leaving it frail and teetering on the brink of death. Hopeless.

Like Tess, Isabels bond, had been, and how she’d died.

A quiet moan pulled her from her thoughts and she leaned forward, her lips brushing her daughter earlobe to whisper words of comfort.

“It is alright Vilandra. Let go if you must.”

The words were soft, and tremulous on her lips, but just. She would not let her daughter suffer for her own selfishness.

The hum of the heart mummer prodded at her consciousness but she ignored it, her daughters hand in her own, her body against her bosom rocked slowly like she had held her as a child.

The quiet hum faded, still she remained.


My daughter is the last. The last that I should see die, for I fear that I am next. The blood on my kerchief and the pain in my bones allude to that, but I am not naive, I do not play the game of denial, had not my need to see my children’s rebirth and survival through been so extreme, I would’ve been lost days ago….months ago perhaps. But I am not. I am the last of royal blood, and I am my children’s only hope.

The doctors feared my plans would temper fate, but that is of no importance to me.

That there lives, should only be able to be saved by splicing there jeans with the only beings we ever revered as beneath us. Humans. Iron that to survive, they will be reborn on earth as one of it’s own. Ironic that only ¼ of their true nature should remain to protect them, to keep them safe and alive until they reach the mediocre planet earth, and until they find each other. Until the awakening.

Four others will be birthed along with them, bonders and carriers of the fourth element that will awaken their true nature when it’s time.

When I rest tonight, I know it will be for the last time, but I am not saddened, for I will rest in peace, with the knowledge that although I could not save myself, I saved my children.




Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with sleep, and she blinked, shadows cast by moonlight that spilled through her gauzy curtains catching her attention for a moment before she yawned, and closed her journal.

Gently her fingers caressed the covered, embossed with the royal shield, before she tucked it gently in a carrier, one that would be brought down to the dock to travel to earth with her children the next morning.

A morning she knew she would not see. She was not saddened. Her children would live. That alone was worth the cost of her life.

Gently she smiled, inside the journal she’d scribbled four words that she knew would be carried in her children’s hearts forever. That would instill her hope, and comfort and love deeply in their souls, so that they would never doubt her heart.


Love eternally,
Your mother.




[ edited 6 time(s), last at 7-Jun-2002 11:45:39 PM ]