Fan Fiction ❯ Silver Owl ❯ A Terrible Destiny ( Prologue )

Silver Owl

Chapter One - A terrible destiny

"Has the time come?" a silky, feminine voice asked. Her body was faint, hardly visible through the white mist that had enveloped the scene. Long arms stretched through the milky white cloud gracefully, as if the figure were dancing. There was obvious worry in her voice.

"Yes," came the answer, painfully truthful. The new voice was powerful; there was such authority in it. This voice could have belonged to a man or a woman; it was too soft and indifferent to tell.

"How can that be? How can such beauty be threatened? Why is it so easy for beauty to fade?" Her voice was desperate and she spun around quickly, searching for the person who had answered her. But the voice, apparently, was bodiless. The sparkling white mist around her kept the speaker hidden. She just couldn't believe, couldn't understand why. Crystal tears began to spill down her soft cheeks.

"Beauty doesn't last forever, like peace. Peace can't last forever either." That same bodiless voice answered her. How could that voice be so indifferent? Why didn't it care about what was happening?

"Even when peace makes people happy?" she asked, feeling her body tremble slightly.

"Happiness is something that is forever changing."

"It's too easy. Destruction and death shouldn't be this easy." She stopped searching for the voice now, instead standing perfectly still. The white mist was swirling almost mystically around her, glinting slightly in the pale silver light. It was almost as if the mist was alive, and yet it kept things hidden from her. She was stunned, confused. Everything was happening so quickly, everything was going to be destroyed. How could anything let that happen?

"That's the way of the world. You can't change it. You can't change this world, nor can you save it." That voice was so soft, yet so cold. It made her shiver and she wondered if she was the only person who cared. Suddenly a determination, a power radiated from within her faint body.

"I can. I'm sure I can. The chosen warriors could save this peace and beauty." She was sure of that. She knew they could. If the warriors could harbour the powers, could bring themselves to fight, then the world would be saved. Peace and beauty would remain.

"Then they would have a terrible destiny," the voice replied, and for the first time it sounded sad. But she didn't hear the mournful voice, because she was gone. She left that place in a flurry of silver feathers.

*

She frowned slightly, unaware that she was doing it. How many people had said to her, "Why don't you ever have a smile on that pretty face of yours?" People that she had never met before, and had no intention of meeting. So she had answered their nosy questions with a glare, a cold glare that sent shivers down their spines. Now she found herself smiling gently at the memory.

She was alone again. Slowly she walked across the rocky terrain of the desert, her skin hot. The warm, suffocating wind wrapped itself around her body harshly and she gasped for breath. Dark curls were blown into her eyes and she fought them back with long fingers. Although her whole body was trembling with fatigue, she wouldn't stop. She couldn't. She knew that if she stopped to rest, the desert would claim her.

Would that really be so bad? Would anyone miss her if she died in this harsh place and never returned? She knew the answer and it scared her slightly, but she wouldn't stop. She didn't care if no one would miss her. She was strong and determined and she would survive.

Her name was Lyrik Ramon. She was a seventeen-year-old girl on the run, from a broken family. No one cared about her and she cared about no one.

Determinedly struggling onward, Lyrik stumbled over loose rock and cried out in pain as she fell to the ground, the hot golden sand burning her exposed skin. The desert wasn't her favourite place, she had to admit, and she couldn't really remember why she was there. Well, she knew what she had done. Travelling from place to place, a wanderer, Lyrik often found herself stealing from wealthy merchants' stalls. They had so much; they wouldn't miss small items here and there. At least, that was what Lyrik thought. No, what she couldn't remember was what exactly she had stolen from the last town, and she wondered if she ever would.

It didn't matter now anyway. She was alone, desperately running through the bone-dry desert, desperately trying to escape the authority. She knew that the council would learn of her activities, especially after getting caught that last time, and they would be hot on her heels. Breathing deeply, Lyrik wondered what had made her so senseless as to get caught that last time. Usually she was so careful, so what had happened? Perhaps she had been too tired, too fatigued, to pay the stall owner any thought. Perhaps it wasn't her fault at all, but some nosy kid had seen her and betrayed her for a few worthless scraps of bread. As Lyrik stumbled onward, green eyes narrowed as she fought back sleep, she wished for a few scraps of bread. Perhaps they weren't useless after all.

Perhaps this was her fate. Lyrik never really believed in fate, but as the sun continued to beat down onto her weak body she started to think about strange things like that. Her mind and body had separated long ago. Animal instincts, not logic, had taken over, and Lyrik's body seemed to be moving of its own accord. Lyrik was faintly aware that she was moving, stumbling, falling, and picking herself up again. As she began to die, she continued to think about the things in her life that could have been different.

Perhaps, perhaps her father could have loved her. Maybe if Lyrik had tried hard, really put all her effort in to impressing her father, he would have been proud of her. Then he would have loved her, and she would have a family. She would living with her father in happiness instead of travelling around the country like a vagabond. It was all her fault, wasn't it? For the first time, as Lyrik slowly died, she realised that she had brought her fate upon herself.

Eventually Lyrik felt her legs give way beneath her weight and she was faintly aware that she had fallen to the ground. Golden sand covered her body like a light blanket, searing her skin, but she could barely feel the pain. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, her mind somewhere far away from her useless body. If she were bodiless she could fly. That absurd thought flashed through Lyrik's mind as her eyes closed.

So this is what death is like. It's so weightless.

Her mind was numb, black, the feeling people had as they were struggling to waken from a dream. Everything around her was foreign. She could hear the whipping of the wind faintly but she didn't know what it was. She could hear her own strained breathing but it sounded comical. Her consciousness was somewhere else. She didn't know if she was dead or alive.

They're not coming, she thought. All this time I've been running across the desert, desperately trying to escape and I wasn't even being followed.

Then Lyrik remembered what she had stolen and she laughed bitterly. Bread crusts. Yes, she remembered stretching out a hand slowly for the stale crusts of bread on the edge of the stall. The sun was baking down on her, her eyes concentrated solely on the stall owner. He was engaged in a polite conversation with a large woman, pearls wrapped so tightly around her turkey neck that Lyrik wondered if they were strangling her.

She had stolen a pile of stale bread crusts from a jeweller's store. No wonder I'm not being followed, she thought, mentally scolding herself. Why would a jeweller be concerned about a handful of bread crusts? They were probably for the birds anyway. Why did I ever think that I was important enough to be followed? Why would anyone care about catching me when my father didn't even care . . .

She knew then that no one could care if she died, not even herself. Perhaps death would be a release. She didn't even try to stand, to save her sorry self. What was the point? What was there to live for?

Then she heard it, a soft voice. It was gentle but evasive. The voice was inside her mind, and she knew somehow that no one but her could hear it. The voice seemed to wrap itself around her soul, healing her. For a moment, Lyrik couldn't remember that she was dying.

"Come to me, child." The voice was so soft, so warm and gentle. It was unearthly. Such compassion in a voice from a person she had never met. It was almost . . . holy. Could this, could this be the voice of an angel?

This person cared, really cared. "Yes," Lyrik found herself murmuring, and was shocked by the loudness of her voice. Blinking, she realised that she had spoken her desire out loud. Could it be, that she was still alive? Did this voice want her to remain alive?

"Come to me, child," it said, filling Lyrik with warmth. "You cannot leave this world yet, traveller. Come to me."

"Yes," Lyrik said, and once again her words had been spoken aloud. She blinked once, twice, green eyes unaccustomed to the brightness of the desert sun. She felt warm, healed. Her body was no longer dying, but full of energy. She stumbled forward, not used to the ease at which she could move her body.

She could still hear the voice echoing in her head and she followed. There were no more words, but the sense of warmth and love remained. Somehow Lyrik knew where to go, and she stumbled forward blindly, unaware of her path but knowing that it led to something wonderful. The merciless sun continued to beat down on Lyrik, but she could barely feel it. Instead she continued her trek across the desert for what seemed like moments. In reality it was hours. As Lyrik reached her destination, the sun was low in the sky, a glowing orb of red, descending into the earth.

The harsh desert gave way to a rocky terrain and Lyrik looked up to see a large rocky cliff towering over her. She was bathed in the cool shadow of the cliff, and it brought her relief. Somehow she had made it through the desert.

As she looked up at the towering, rocky cliff, Lyrik was overcome with a strong sense of power. It ran through her veins, warming her and yet causing her body to shiver at the same time. She knew where she had to go. There was a large cave entrance at the bottom of the cliff, a doorway, and the voice was beckoning Lyrik to enter.

"Come to me, child," it sang in a silver voice.

Lyrik didn't hesitate. She took small steps forwards, the darkness enveloping her as she entered the cave. Almost immediately, however, Lyrik realised that there was something different about this cave. The dark rock around her was carved into delicate patterns that seemed to be telling a story. Subconsciously Lyrik reached out and traced the pattern with her fingertips. The rock was cold, but it radiated the same power she had felt.

Suddenly the narrow entrance gave way to a large, hollow cavern. Lyrik couldn't hold back the gasp. The enormity of the cavern overwhelmed her, and the power spread through her body like water. Trembling, Lyrik continued to follow the voice, wondering what holy place she had entered. She didn't deserve to be here.

The rock here had been carved too. The walls were covered in squiggling patterns that made no sense to her, and large columns of rock seemed to support the ceiling. Either side of her were stone benches, carved from the walls themselves. Lyrik realised that she was walking down an aisle, towards a large stone altar. Faceless statues surrounded her.

Such power . . . It radiated from everything around her. Suddenly Lyrik realised that this was a holy place, a temple carved from the mountain itself. It was an ancient place, powerful, and Lyrik had been drawn here. Why? What had brought her, of all people, to a place as holy and ancient at this?

Her breathing strained, Lyrik could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She stopped slowly before the carved stone altar, wondering if the person who had spoken to her was watching her. Everything around her was so dark, made of stone and shadows.

Then she noticed something that was different. From the corner of her eye she saw a flash of silver. Gasping, Lyrik Ramon turned and saw something take flight, silver, hidden in the shadows. Fear began to build inside her now and Lyrik turned to run when something stopped her. It was that same warm, loving voice that had guided her out of the desert to this place.

"Welcome child," the voice said inside her head, wrapping her soul in its protective embrace. Lyrik calmed immediately, and then a voice spoke to her aloud. "Welcome child of earth."

Gasping, Lyrik turned to see who had spoken. Sitting before her magnificently was a beautiful silver owl.

~tbc~