** Please note, I am not a historian, and this is not an accurate depiction of the past, but a fantasy version in an alternative world very similar to our own - Happy Reading :-) **
The Concordia, Twelve Hundred Years Before (Give or Take a Century)
Swords in hand, the brave and noble soldiers crept up the rampart, conquering the fortifications of the enemy, and creeping closer to the stronghold castle, skirting the chickens who fossicked through the dirt for their breakfast, and keeping belly to ground in order not to be spotted as they reached the peak.
“I see them,” Thaelen whispered, his blond hair blowing forward over his dirt smeared face. His features still held the roundness of youth, only just beginning to reveal the strong lines of adulthood. “Crouched over there, behind the wooden barrels.”
The three other boys, designated enemy soldiers by the game, clutched wooden practice swords and crouched between barrels and the wooden wall fortification. The women and men who maintained a watch above the gate, bored by the still day and the length of their duty, watched from their perch with amusement as the boys practiced their soldiering skills, waiting for the inevitable battle, so that they could call out encouragement and criticism, and enjoy the brawl that the game was sure to end in when players forgot that they only played, and resorted to violence.
“Well, there is no way we can reach them without them seeing, their position is well chosen,” Haethnir replied grimly.
“There is only one thing for it, then, and that is to lure them out. They must be getting hungry by now,” Thaelen regarded Griort, Ulthred, and Isolund through narrowed eyes. “They have not seen us.” He rolled onto his back, surveying the houses within the rampart for a likely victim. “There we have our bait,” he pointed to a human child, a blood slave, playing with carved wooden animals in the dirt near one of the slave houses.
As Thaelen began to descend the rampart to retrieve his bait, Haethnir gasped and grabbed him by the shoulder, pointing towards where the ocean was a lush blue between the green and yellow sandhills.
“Thaelen, look,” Haethnir was distracted by a glint in the distance. “Boats have landed at the beach.”
Thaelen stood, game forgotten, and rose to the full extent of his pre-adolescent height, all long thin limbs and knobbly joints peeking out from where he had outgrown shirt and trousers in a sudden growth spurt and shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun. “It is them! I see my father!”
The land along the coast had been held by the Concordia family for as long as living vampire memory. Beneath the gently undulating green hills, and the fertile fields, existed an extensive subterranean development, known only to vampires. Treasure rooms, temples, and tombs containing the ashes of vampire ancestors and honored slaves could be found within a warren of tunnels and chambers kept safe below.
On the surface, they lived a simple existence. Within fields of grain and vegetables worked by the human slaves, the vampire fortress was secured by a double ring of wooden wall and earth-mound rampart. A gate was located at each compass point, with a cross of roads north to south and east to west running through, and within each quarter of the circle, identical houses had been constructed with care, precision, and the knowledge of an ancient culture quick to adapt to new technology.
With the majority of their menfolk frequently at sea, raiding human settlements up and down the coastline of the neighbouring countries, although the Concordia answered to the king, within the fortress it was a matriarchy, with the women supervising the human slaves, the children, and fulfilling all roles within the community from blacksmithing to building.
Thorarin Gulgane, king of the Concordia marched at the head of a long line of soldiers and slaves, the latter heavily laden with the treasures of conquest. “My son,” he caught Thaelen against him in a tight embrace as the boy ran along the Western road from the ring fortress to meet the returning army. “Let us look at you!” He held Thaelen back from him and ran his eye over him head to foot, and back up before rubbing at the dirt on Thaelen’s cheek. “You have grown again, my boy. Your wrists and ankles are sticking out of your clothing.”
“I know,” Thaelen laughed. “Mother was complaining about it this morning.”
“Ah, she will complain less once she sees what I have brought back for her. How is your mother?” Thorarin tucked Thaelen under his arm as they continued to walk into the fortress, nodding his head in greeting to the guards at the gate, and the slaves and members of the royal household that hurried out of their houses in order to help carry in the plunder of their raids.
“Husband!” Lagita, her long blond braids wrapped around her head like a crown, stood in the doorway of their house. “Welcome home. In one piece, I see.”
“That I am,” he replied releasing Thaelen in order to pull Lagita into his arms, resting his forehead against hers. “It has been too many nights, my wife, since we have been together.”
“Six weeks of days and nights, Thorarin. I had begun to fear that I would not see you again,” she whispered sinking her fingers into his hair and pulling his mouth to hers in a passionate kiss. “It is good to have you home!”
The fortress seethed with activity and Thaelen and his peers ducked and weaved through the busyness, marvelling at the treasures that had returned with the soldiers. Cloth, precious stones, gold, herbs, and spices from afar, grains, and weaponry were all slowly brought from the fleet of ships into the fortress and distributed to the subterranean holds for safe keeping.
The new slaves, filthy, blood stained and exhausted from the battle and their capture, were fed and penned. In time, they would surrender to their fate, but when first brought to the fortress all slaves had moments where they sought freedom from their captors. Part of the process of breaking their spirit involved branding, collaring, and shackling the new arrivals.
Thaelen and Haethnir watched as the men and women were separated and penned, their hysteria mounting as the braziers were lit and the branding irons heated, realizing what would come. The women clutched their young to them and wept and pleaded, and the men clutched at the bars and yelled obscenities.
“Women and children first,” Thorarin put his hand on Thaelen’s shoulder from behind. “Why, son?”
“It is more merciful,” Thaelen replied readily, the lesson learned long ago. “So that they do not need to watch and fear.”
“And it breaks the men’s spirits,” Haethnir added. “To watch helpless as their women and children are collared and branded, so they fight less when it’s their turn.”
“Correct. Do that one first, the little girl,” Thaelen told the men wielding the brand. “And use a silver collar.” The little girl who was brought out of the pen was alone, no mother or siblings clinging to her. Younger than Thaelen by several years, her face was pale and tearstained, and her eyes red.
“Silver, father?” Thaelen looked up at him.
Silver collars were reserved for the slaves of the royal household, and Thorarin normally only chose slaves of value – women and men of exceptional beauty, skill, or scholarship. The little girl looked much to Thaelen like every little human girl did, and he could not see how she would possess skills or knowledge to make her valuable enough for the silver collar at her tender age.
“My gift to you, Thaelen,” Thorarin told him. “This is Sigrid. She will be your first personal blood slave.”
“My own?” Thaelen looked at the girl again as the silver collar was locked around her neck. She looked at him with dark blue eyes that seemed knowledgeable beyond her years.
“You are almost a man, and a vampire prince. It is fitting that you learn the responsibility that comes with the role. Ownership of Sigrid will help, as you will learn what it is to have another dependent on you. Are you prepared to take on this responsibility?”
Thaelen dragged his eyes from the girl he was about to own, to his father. “I guess so.”
“It is no small thing to own another,” Thorarin smiled slightly. “It is good to be hesitant. When you take on a blood slave, they are yours for as long as they live, or as long as you keep them alive. It is a mutual relationship – we give each other life.”
“Yes, father.” Excitement at the honor and privilege warred against nervousness at the responsibility that such ownership would involve.
“They are about to brand your blood slave, Thaelen. What is the right thing to do?” Thorarin squeezed Thaelen’s shoulders and released him, stepping back.
Thaelen swallowed hard, his thoughts scattering. The men with the branding iron waited patiently, their eyes moving between Thorarin and his son, looking to the vampire king for his signal. Thaelen drew in a deep breath and stepped forward to stand before the girl, who looked up at him with an expression of numb resignation, as if the exhaustion and trauma that had brought her there had robbed her of the ability to feel fear.
“It will hurt,” he told her. “The burn is brief, and it is important not to struggle, for a neat, clean brand. When it is done, we can heal it. The brand must be deep, or the healing will take the scar away and we will have to repeat it. But the healing will take away the pain. You only need to be brave for a moment. I’ll hold your hand,” he held his out, the palm tide-marked with dirt and sweat from his earlier play.
She searched his face with her too-knowing eyes.
“You are mine now,” he told her quietly. “I will look after you.”
“I know,” she said and took his hand.
The Concordia, Twelve Hundred Years Before (Give or Take a Century)The house of Lagita Gulgane, queen of the Concordia, was a single, long room with an elaborately carved screened area behind the High Chair which hid the bed in which the king and queen spent their nights. The rest of the household slept either upon the benches that lined the walls to either side of the central hearth, or upon the floor around it.Thaelen, like many other child vampires, slept on a ledge built within the rafters and accessible by ladder. From this haven, he could look down upon the revelry of the adults celebrating another successful raiding season and the return of their king, the dancing firelight casting their shadows into gigantic proportions on the walls.His father sat upon the High Chair, a fragile and treasured glass containing a mix of mead and blood held in one hand, whilst his most trusted soldier regaled Lagita with stories of his prowess in battle. Thaelen lay on his back next to his new
Havermouth, Present TimeThe meeting broke up, and the soldiers rose and began the slow shuffle out of the tidy rows of seats, past Talen and Aislen, and out into the foyer. Their laughter and light-hearted conversation were at odds with the situation in Havermouth, jarring Aislen’s tolerances. She wanted to yell at them to stop f-king laughing and do something, but there was something intimidating and almost menacing about the men that held her tongue in check.Her instincts told her not to draw attention to herself, or to Talen, and she suspected her vampire felt the same way, as he subtly moved them back into the narrow walkway behind the very rear row of seats, placing himself between her and the aisle.The police and fire chief, Heath, and several black clad men gathered just before the stage.“Should we go down there?” Aislen wondered, she couldn’t hear what was being said over the rumble of voices of the soldiers leaving the audience hall, but she could read the body language l
Havermouth, Present Time“That’s like… a thing? Like a real thing?” Aislen looked between her two mates.“It is,” Talen replied placing his hand on the small of her back and encouraging her gently forward.The alley and carpark had taken them through the square of the town, depositing them on the street where Rhett’s shop was located, bypassing the blocked off, soldier filled main street. It was a route that someone who had grown up in the town knew, but that people new to the area would not.They crossed the road, pausing on the corner to look up towards the main crossroads of the town as yells broke out, Heath tensing. A group of men dragged a woman, fighting, clawing, her hair wild and her blue suit covered in blood, out of a building and into a van, leaving behind one designer high heel on the pavement. The van shook, and the passenger within shrieked, the sound carrying as the van pulled away from the curb.“Was that…?” Aislen trailed off remembering Dr James and the bite mark on
Havermouth, A Year Before“She’s a beauty,” Cameron leaned against the fence and admired Jules’ new mare, Aria, who was grazing in the field nearest to the house.“She is, sired by Maverick James, and out of Soprano Siren, fourteen point two hands, she needs a bit more work, but she has a sweet, gentle nature,” Jules was pleased by his purchase. “I’ll take her out to ride the fences later today and see how she does.”“Chester will be jealous.”Jules slid his eyes to Cameron and then away. “Sometimes we have to make choices, Cam, and no matter how much we love a horse, sometimes a new one is needed, right?”Jules wasn’t talking about horses, Cameron thought grimly, but about women. “Sometimes, there only is one horse,” he replied softly. “And you can’t replace it.”“I’m sorry for that,” Jules murmured. “I am, Cam.” They watched the mare graze in silence before Jules gave a slight restless gesture. “You should go see your mum before you head off, have a cup of tea. She’s leaving again f
The Concordia, Twelve Hundred Years Before (Give or Take a Century)Thaelen watched Sigrid chase the waves with the slave children, her skirts held to mid-thigh, and her braids bouncing as she laughed and splashed through the shallows. The day was bright, and the sky clear of cloud, and the weather had encouraged the slaves to the water. They searched the sand and the shallows for fish, took boats out deeper to cast their nets and strung drying frames around the fires, to smoke and dry their catch for the winter.Thaelen had not come to the beach for food. He searched the sand, to see what treasures of the deep the tide had brought in.“What are you doing?” Sigrid asked as she returned to him, the sand crusting her wet legs with salt.“Preparing offerings for the gods. In a few days, we will travel into the mountains, see there,” he pointed to the shadow on the horizon. “There is a temple there. It will take many days to walk there, and we will stay with the strongholds we encounter o
The Concordia, Twelve Hundred Years Before (Give or Take a Century)The pilgrimage towards the mountains took several days as it was traditionally made on foot. Many vampires chose to make the pilgrimage each year, and so Thorarin and Thaelen were accompanied by a number of vampires, slaves, and wagons ladened with supplies for the humans and gifts for both the lords of the Concordia who would host them along their path and to sacrifice to the gods.The days were filled with the slow trudge towards the mountains on the horizon, and the nights with stories told by firelight, the storyteller’s throats lubricated by blood mixed with mead or beer. When they reached a stronghold, the entire caravan would be absorbed into the homes of their hosts, and they would stay for two days, in order for Thorarin to spend time with the lords and ladies of the Concordia, with Thaelen at his side learning how to negotiate and resolve the concerns of his future kingdom.As they passed through the strongh
The Concordia, Twelve Hundred Years Before (Give or Take a Century) The Temple of the Gods was perched high in the mountains, and it took most of the day to guide the wagons up the steep and narrow roads to where, around a jutting point of rock, the way suddenly widened into a generous courtyard and the temple appeared, cunningly carved into the mountain. The temple was as large as a stronghold, the chambers uncounted, with many layers of openings and balconies looking down into the courtyard it framed on three sides. The stone-smiths who had carved it were artist vampires, and their efforts were still ongoing, with scaffolding built against one side showing the newest renovations. The arrival of the pilgrimage was anticipated, and the courtyard was filled with acolytes, priests and priestesses of the various gods, and their blood slaves. Thaelen and Thorarin were guided through into the great hall, lined with the altars of the gods, and began the slow progression from altar to al
Kabramatta, One Year Before Aislen dreamed of Rhett, dressed formally in a black suit and shirt, standing on the balcony of the river house with the wind trying to suck his hair free of its tie as he gazed out over the river. His hands were in his pockets, the suit jacket riding up around his wrists, and he was clean shaven. His cheekbones were sharper, his jaw more defined, youth faded into manhood. Heath walked up behind him, wearing charcoal grey to match his eyes. His hair was closely and severely cut. He placed his hand on Rhett’s shoulder and they both stood, grimly looking out at the flowing water, before turning together as Cameron stepped out of the river house. Like Rhett, Cameron wore a black suit, his shirt crisply white. He was weeping and shook his head as both Rhett and Heath started forwards. “Don’t,” his lips shaped the word though there was no sound. He turned and walked around the corner of the house. Aislen woke and lay awake gazing at the ceiling, her heart rac