(11) Shards

Days went by, and with each day, a new lesson. Annaliese was beginning to find her mastery over the Dark Arts to be more invigorating, as opposed to draining, as usual. Knath, her companion, helped her to touch upon the secret magics that flowed so fluently through her, and he, as well as she, was surprised at how quickly she developed her talent.

It seemed as if it was in her very blood.

Most importantly, she learned that every bit of energy expelled could not be used in vain. A warlock apprentice learned quickly of the necessity of a soul shard--and to what extent one must go to obtain such a priceless treasure. Annaliese learned long ago that a fully packed soul pouch meant a more successful warlock, but she soon began to see the essential idea not only on an elementary level of understanding, but physically, she felt the dire need for the tiny prismatic prisms. The addiction was nothing new in a warlock’s world-truly it was almost a stepping stone among the Scions themselves. Truth be told, Anna could care less whether she was addicted to them or not--the more time she spent with her prodigal teacher, the more Knath made her feel utterly invincible.

Some, especially her Sister Serenah, would say that her addiction hardly stemmed from an object…

Annaliese, when not under Knath’s tutelage, also found herself sinking into the word and law of the Great Dark. Some things made her uneasy, of what it represented, but she blamed this simply on ignorance. After all, one would always fear what they could not understand. She did what she could to enlighten herself on the matter, learning that the Great Dark was a part of her. It breathed in the shadow magics she wielded, guided her, taught her of sacrifice, and of power. Repeating oaths during their meetings, she could breathe in the words, and subsequently the meaning. Each word, each phrase resonated along her bones, feeling the Darkness numb the fear, opening her to the necessity of it each night, helping her to embrace it into herself little, by little.

From deep inside herself, she knew the shadows were her place. This, was her domain. Solace could not be found in anything else, nothing provided her a haven, as did her Family. Many warlocks came to the Scions for power, promised by the Great Dark in exchange for devotion. But Anna, as meek as a woman she was, found her niche instead with those that were looking for a sense of belonging--for Home. She was often looked down upon for her gentle nature, even by Knath, but she was strong in her belief that the Great Dark offered peace to those that sought its shelter, as she did.

The news of Lilaeth’s death hit her hard, however. She had refused to believe her dead, a fool’s hope lingering that perhaps the warlock’s death was a mere discrepancy. The details of Lilaeth’s death were not revealed to her, but rumors abounded of treachery among their Circle. Whatever the reason for her Sister’s death, she somehow felt that the woman was a vigilant servant to the Great Dark, and remained so, even in death.

In the aftermath of Lilaeth’s untimely death, all that could be done was for further instruction in the ways of the Great Dark to continue. Keruptis seemed only to strengthen this ideal, as the Scion’s last meeting seemed especially intense, though Annaliese could not help but feel there were more factors provoking their Dark Lord reinstating the bond shared between all of them. Some of the Scions were invited to take part of the Bloodwine, which was unheard of, left only for partaking by the highest ranking members. Annaliese, though curious, chose to refuse the offer, and left the Dark Lord to a mostly female audience. She could not hide her amusement as she left their sanctuary, the smirk lingering on her lips.

Seduction, and carnal desires were often a mainstay among her Dark Family. Although tempting by most, that world did not snag Annaliese’s interest, her flesh a numb shell. She could hardly feel the chilled wind of Deadwind whip against her neck, let alone a heated breath. The fiery hooves of the felsteed struck the cold stone of the Pass satisfyingly. Rain began to fall softly from the clouded skies, and the dismal Duskwood wind sifted through now, carrying the stench of the dead to join Deadwind’s stale air. She ran her hands across the charcoal black of her prize’s neck, the muscles taught. She could not remember an instance in her life where she had ridden a horse before, but somehow the unearthly creature made it easy, ferocious as a creature as it was. Learning to summon the demonic mount was far easier than she would have suspected. Becoming a warlock, following the dark path, was often strenuous as well as expensive, but attaining the creature seemed more of a reprieve of her path, more of a reward than a lesson. She smiled down at the demon as the flames of its eyes consumed the bits of rain, hearing the faint sizzle of water evaporated immediately into steam upon contact. Such amazing things she had seen, and so much more was yet to come.

Lifting her face to meet the rain, she ignored the subtle stench of death, trying to focus on the feel of the rain, trying to will her skin to remember it. Wraithsong moved slightly under her fingertips and snorted lightly, but Anna’s eyes closed, hoping to catch a whisper of wetness, concentrating hard, as if each breath depended upon it. Slowly, then…she began to feel a sensation creep along her skin, as if absorbed through her robes. It trailed along her arms, over the shoulders, then finally seeped beneath the skin, forcing her to exhale a short breath in surprise. The cold mass swept through her blood and danced along her spine, enlivening nerves, the feeling wonderful to a woman that felt nothing for so long. She began to protest as she felt the sensation leave her slowly, an unintelligible, soft whine meeting the rain. The felsteed answered her plead with a shuddering whinny, when she realized someone loomed behind her.

Quickly, she dismounted from Wraithsong, inadvertently dismissing it. Focusing energies into her hands, she whipped about to face the stranger with flames, all before her mind could register thought. Though she acted on her feet and on instinct, as expected, she was much too late. Her hands were flung to the sides, away from her target, her lithe body was flung hard against the rocky wall of the cavernous Pass. Helplessly pinned against the rock, she blinked twice in realization, the shifting, swirling void walker’s massive arms holding her aloft. The demon could split her in half, much like a child’s rag doll, but it simply held her against the wall--a painless crucification.

"Tch, tch. Anna, Anna. Really, you should know better than to leave yourself so open," chided the familiar, smooth voice. Anna relaxed considerably at the sound of it, and, sensing her own reduction of threat, the void walker lowered her slowly back to the ground, and begun to release its crushing grip on her arms. Knath stood not far behind, shaking his head, the teasing grin replaced by a sigh.

"So many things here to hurt you, and you didn't even have a demon out to keep watch? How careless, Anna," he said, stepping closer, a sincere look of worry on his face. "The felsteed doesn't count, by the way."

Knath hesitated, but reached out and grasped Annaliese's arm, rolling the sleeve of her robe to inspect the angry bruise left by the void walker.

"Didn't mean for him to hurt you," Knath murmured, the boyish face exuding guilt. Anna quickly whipped her arm away, the corner of her lips curving upward into a small smile at the heartfelt apology.

"You didn't," she answered simply, shrugging. "I wasn't thinking though, on that you are right."

His eyes were on her, dark rolling abysses, swimming with shadows, which made something in her snap. She averted her gaze as he stepped closer, forcing a smile at him, teasing.

"I should have opened with a curse. Instantaneous pain…" she replied with a gentle laugh. He smirked, the mischievous glint in his dark gaze once again.

"Maybe. But we'll learn together, hm?" his tone soft as his fingers glided against the curve of her cheek. Anna moved away, startled by his sudden advance, the intensity of his gaze, pulling her into him. Instead, Knath pressed closer, sliding her arms around her in an embrace. Anna, for the most part, felt she was trapped in the arms of a statue. She could feel pressure, not texture, or warmth, just the suffocating of an organic prison. She felt his hands, slabs of pressure against her back, and she moved her face against his shoulder to breathe easier.

"I hurt you, my dark little gem. Let me make it better…" Knath whispered into the shell of her ear. A gasp, and she felt the pouring of cold into her flesh through his hands. Again, it twisted along her bones, surrounded the beat of her heart. Just as she felt the energy begin to meld with the nexus of her soul, she pushed away, hard as she could, his breath caught in his throat, she, still trying to find hers. Despite the exhilaration of the moment, uncertainty caught her as with most times when the two became too close, much too close.

She moved away, back to the stony bridge, and concentrated on summoning Wraithsong once again. It did not take her long to mount the steed, entangling her fingers with it's midnight mane. Knath shot her a boyish smile, but his shadowy eyes made the expression seem…calculating.

"Beautiful, powerful, the shadows. They can do more than be used to hurt, you know. Endless, limitless possibilities, Anna," Knath purred as she took in a deep breath, scanning the dreary landscape with her eyes, no particular destination in mind. Knath's brow furrowed in a childish frustration, and he turned his own gaze downward.

"I have somewhere to be, Knath," Anna replied lowly, almost monotone, the reigns pulled taught, a snort of smoke bellowed from the horse as it whipped its head. Her eyes lifted to the eternal grey skies of Deadwind, the hollow winds circulating upward.

"Don't…don't be afraid, Anna," Knath's voice carried over to her, and there was another moment of shared silence, where the amber wine of her eyes were captured by his Darkness.

The gallop of fiery hooves was her only reply.