Bound by Blood: The Awakening

By C.H. Scarlett

Book I of the Bound by Blood Series....

High Priestess of her bloodlines, Samanthra Lampir is on the verge of her Awakening, something every Vii before her has welcomed with ease. Not Samanthra though, for her Awakening is prophesied to bring about the doom of her and those she loves the most, her sisters. In secret, she undergoes dangerous rituals despite the fatal threats of TERAH and the rising strengths of its enemies. That is, until the night a great storm of unknowable power releases a prophecy, a revelation, that will change her world--the world of TERAH-- forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.H. Scarlett
• Release date: Dec 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310744167

C.H. Scarlett

C.H. Scarlett is a pseudonym of Casey Harris. C.H. Scarlett writes Paranormal and Fantasy Fiction.When she isn’t dreaming up her manuscripts, she is usually writing articles or researching her favorite subjects. Her blog usually reflects the interests that continuously haunts her : Paranormal, Other Worlds, Metaphysics, Occult, Ancient Religions & Cultures, History, Gardening, and Herbs. She also has a deep passion for Photography, Photo Manipulation &enhancement, Photo-shop, Art.

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BOUND BY BLOOD

THE AWAKENING

I

By C.H. SCARLETT

Copyright 2013 Casey Harris L. Harris C.H. SCARLETT

Published by L.A. Harris at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedications

My children, Justice Steele, Storm Lee, and Serenity Spring

Without you, I wouldn’t have tried so hard.

*

My husband Jeff,

For being patient and not complaining when supper never hit the table because I was writing.

*

To the original Crone, everything a best friend, a spiritual sister, could be and more, Janice C. aka Zeus

Because you believed in me and forced me to believe in myself.

*

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1: It's Time

Chapter 2: Dĩas's Cage

Chapter 3: Visions Be Still, Sister

Chapter 4: Moth to a Flame

Chapter 5: The Lycãons

Chapter 6: When the Blood Calls

Chapter 7: The Claim

Chapter 8: The Brothers

Chapter 9: Father of the Blood

Chapter 10: Staphãyn

Chapter 11: Walk With Me

Chapter 12: The Theŕéans

Chapter 13: Forsaken

Chapter 14: Starvation

Chapter 15: The Truce

Chapter 16: Trust in Me

Chapter 17: The Wrath of the Priestess

Chapter 18: The Willow

Chapter 19: Blood of my Blood

Epilogue

Glossary

Titles of the Bound by Blood Series

Author Bio

Letter to the Reader

Website

PROLOGUE

Somewhere between worlds . . .

Time: Somewhere in the unknown, yet very far future

The Crone moved slowly throughout the dark of the cavern. Her body wobbled against the ravages of realm and of time. Her eyes were wise regarding the folds of the world and all its many dimensions. Her thoughts were young, despite the reality of her condition, aware and awake to the truths spoken no more.

The passion and truth of the old ways stirred within her ancient soul. She embraced the many pages of its truth, known not even to those who believed in them now. Such memories were fleeting, broken, and erased by the hands of power, which held claim over the many worlds in its present state.

Yet she remembered. Yes, she remembered them always.

And with such memory, she walked through the dark tunnels of the hidden caverns, silent and thinking. The ancient language carved on these walls told the stories of the past and of prophecies yet to come.

How sad it was for beings to not know that they were here, these writings. Even the mortals, who explored these dark corridors, overlooked them--the hint of what was written forever in stone unnoticed and unseen.

She realized it would be hard for them to witness the writing, since time’s cruel hand had eroded it so. But if one looked with a true heart and gifted eyes, the writing would emerge as new as the night it was carved there.

The Crone’s heart was true, and her eyes were gifted.

So what could the Crone see? Within the dark tunnels were hidden doors carrying the history of those of power and magic of long past, of those who helped shape this world and so many others.

These were the stories of those who dedicated their lives to an ongoing battle, which still went on between the Veils and the worlds the Veils coveted. And those tales, those truths cried and whimpered against the dark . . . to be told once again.

Memoire doors, which lined the dark corridors she traveled, are something like tombs, she mused, though without the bodies that normally would inhabit them. No, instead of bodies they held the truths of lives and of memories. They held the legend of their deeds and of the prophecies that were promised to come.

Those who were like her needed great respect for the ones honored in this sacred place.

Without that, their saga could not be discovered. Their revelations would never be known. Their names and deeds would be forgotten . . . .

The Crone felt the chill of the energy here. She bowed her head, lowering the torch in her hand. She had respect. She had honor. And she would never forget . . . .

The young one with her joined in at the Crone's side. She had been curious about the stories the Crone told around the fire pits of her people. Perhaps she felt something already, stirring here, in the dark of this place.

The Crone, feeling the young one’s anticipation, shook her staff toward the walls. A bright blue flame burned away the dust and corrosion. Slowly it faded into the blackening dim. A soft breeze blew through the caverns. It tickled the silvery strands of the Crone’s hair, brushing them against her gray cheeks. Her dark eyes began to softly spin a hoary light. It drifted across the walls in the pattern of a dainty web.

The Crone said, There was a time when mortal and immortal lived together in harmony. Realms opened to other realms. Portals were but an open entrance to the next dimension. The doorways between worlds were never closed. When the Great Goddess was heard clearly and had voice, when the Great God looked proudly down upon all living within the worlds and had for it an ear. When magic was alive and power was felt and known. Such things were known and cherished in the initiation of this universe. Such things are forgotten about now. The Crone’s hardened face suffused with the wanting of yesterday. Her voice was haunting as she remembered a time that seemed forever ago. Her words expressed her memory. She yearned for when life was everlasting and beautiful. And she prayed for when life would be so again . . .

Until then, she kept her promise.

Now that the old worlds were lost, ones such as this child must come here, just before the time of their awakening, so that the Crone could fulfill her destiny. It was a part of the preparation that came with the delivering of their birthrights. Birthrights brought great power and responsibility as well as their own sensing of prophecy and purpose.

You must understand the universe and how it was before your time of birth, child, so that you may value why you are here and know what happened to your people. Understand? The Crone said this softly, which was rare for her, since her voice was known to crackle in its deep registers. For your people did not begin here in this dimension called Earth. They began in a world very similar but very far from being the same. You must understand the lives of your bloodlines so that you will recognize the importance of yourself and what you meant to them, what they sacrificed for you, and for us all. How did we end up here and what happened to the place we came from? Will we ever be able to go back or is that world lost for good? All these things and much more will be answered for you. I promise.

The young one nodded, silently from underneath the cloak and hood, and took the Crone’s hand as she led her through the hallways of the slick stone.

"Your secrets begin in a time known as the Age of Dusk within a dimension called

TEŔAH, which was a special gift all of its own, filled with endless realms and a doorway to all universes. And the lives in those realms were the master bloodlines of this world you know as your own, Earth."

Why was it called the Age of Dusk? The young one asked.

We called it that because TEŔAH was on the verge of a great shift into something quite different that what it was. It was filled with enlightenment at one time, but then suddenly the tables turned and we entered into a phase of blindness. It was the point when the light fades and slips away from us while we stand on the verge of complete darkness. Even night has light, child, but not during the dusk of it.

And this Age of Dusk changed everything?

Yes. That is why your journey will begin here. What happened in this age would end up shaping the future and actually changed the face of TEŔAH drastically. In fact, it is only the beginning of a journey which would lead us here to this dimension, this prison realm, called Earth.

The Crone lifted her staff, waving it across the hidden door. Its stone and rock shifted, revealing a large room inside. Air stale with time poured out but a soft light shimmered forth from its darkness.

The young girl started to go in but the Crone stopped her by putting her staff against her chest. She was gentle, only wishing to delay her entrance into the mysterious lair.

I must warn you now, before you enter, she said with serious eyes. The essence from within that room is great. Once I speak the words of power, the stories will play out before you, making them seem so real. You will not only watch them play out but you will feel all that those who lived them felt. You will be but a ghost there, unable to interfere or make change, for the things done have already come to be. Do you understand?

I . . . I think I do.

You must before you begin. You must realize there will be pain and mistakes, but you will be powerless to undo a thing that has happened. You will be unseen, yet will feel, and know every sensation, every emotion, and every bit of agony. Once their stories begin, there will be no stopping them until they find their end. There will be no leaving the room until all is told. Do you understand? Are you prepared to take such a journey?

The young one nodded. What about the ones that I have ties to and what of my birthright? Will I find them in this room? What happened to them?

You will know your birthright and so much more. It takes a strong heart to survive this journey you face now. And to discover it, will be to finally know who and what you are. You will take your place among those who battle, who fight, to make things right. Are you ready?

There is no other way? No warrior will awaken me?

No child, for those ways are lost. Now it is the truth of our birthrights, which awaken us. The reasons for this . . . you shall come to understand. If you continue. Now, are you ready? The Crone asked again, and the girl nodded. So be it.

The Crone led her into the room. Its walls were high, slick, and brown like the rest of the cavern. Moisture dripped from above them. Embedded in the walls were large crystals. They were clear, flawless, and powerful. The soft light was coming from inside their sparkling depth.

The Crone raised her staff and called out in an ancient language. While she spoke, the light from the crystals became even brighter.

"Bound by blood,

By blood we are bound.

By my blood, I say awaken now.

By the one of blood I bring,

Show unto her the truth of things.

Let the past now sing.

For now comes the time of her Awakening.

Open her eyes

Set this knowledge free.

So Mote It Be."

A blinding light exploded throughout the room, causing their eyes to sting. The ground beneath them seemed to rumble as the door behind them shut and sealed. A mist of many colors swirled around their bodies and shot forth into the darkness above. Sparks of energy fell upon their faces. Before them, a veil lifted and a strange vision unfurled. A sheet of transparent silver hovered over the crystals. The silver turned to a watery glass. The vision was reflected from there.

Silence fell as both grew still, with nothing in motion but the sparks falling gently upon them. Time seemed to freeze. It did not exist here. The coldness of the room became warm while a moment locked into an eternity. They found themselves staring at a woman sleeping, tossing, and turning as if caught up within the web of a dream. The watery glass rippled a bit but became clearer. The girl standing beside the Crone nearly swooned with awe.

She is beautiful. The young one whispered, as she traced every detail of the sleeping woman with her starving eyes. The tip of her finger swirled over the reflection, over her long raven hair flowing like a silk garland, softly lingering upon a comforter the color of wine. The chamber around her looked medieval and made of stone.

Who is she? the young one asked.

And before the Crone could answer, they heard something whisper, many voices all at once, whispers which said, Who is this that has resurrected the pagães of TEŔAH? Who awakens the past and what is lost forever? A great sigh fell from their lips.

Well I cannot see you! Show yourselves! The girl became bucky, and challenged them but the Crone jerked her back.

Silence, child, and listen.

Ah we see…Now we see who this creature is that challenges me. Again, so many voices cackling as one. We see who you are now and who you shall soon be. Warm laughter filled the space. You of the blood who call to us, beckoning the echoes of past truths be shown. Here we give unto you what your heart doth ask…Now watch as we bring to life, what is written in the stone!

And before either of them realized, the watery glass swallowed them up, until they were both nothing more than spirits in the room with the sleeping beauty . . . watching . . . .

CHAPTER 1

It's Time

Mists disperse as visions renew.

Time’s a tale beckoning you.

Comes the hand and mournful cry,

Of silver reflecting the haunting of eyes.

She lost her tune to the music of dream.

When comes the dawn we forget these things.

And how our spirits attempt to fly,

Amidst the blend of redolent eyes.

Until it's time . . . .

World: TEŔAH

Time: The Age of Dusk

Soft dreams beckoned to her from beyond the mists. A force was pulling her willfully onward until bright eyes surfaced through the haze.

Comfortably floating onward . . . It seemed she was floating.

Stop! Her attention was snared on eyes, which burned like crisp, clear cobalt flames of fire and ice. The power of the soul wielding them was intense. Their essence was intoxicatingly addictive.

Come to me, Beloved, a profound voice said. His face was hidden behind the thick folds of magical haze. No one can keep us from being one. Come to me.

Who are you? Tell me your name. Let me see your face. She almost cried. Her body moved in sync with the motion of the dream--mist, towards the voice which called to her. She searched through the mysterious haze. She was always searching. Finding him was like chasing the end of a rainbow. Somehow, the rainbow seemed easier than this.

To remember my face, all you must do is look within your heart. To know my name, all you must do is look within your soul. I have always been with you. The two of us are one in the eyes of the Goddess. You, Blood of my blood . . . His voice faded.

She became afraid. Panic and sadness seemed to overwhelm her.

Not again. Her thoughts raced with silent prayer. I am almost there. I am almost to him. I can almost see, almost touch. Please do not let the dusk steal him away from me again. Let me know who he is.

She began to run frantically through the mist, catching his eyes, here or there, running this way or that way. Each direction she her desperation brought her to, she only found more mist. Not the visage wielding those addictive eyes, never found the one who haunted her dreams.

It is almost time, Beloved, almost time. No force on this earth can prevent me from finding you. We will be one again. Watch for the signs. Fear not the unknown. A storm is coming. The voice said as the mists began to fade into the coming darkness. She was standing alone, harboring within her the shores of an empty dream.

It is time. He whispered, and then, Awaken!

***

Samanthŕa Lampiŕ opened her eyes as if someone had placed her under a spell, and with but one enchanted command, Awaken, she'd been suddenly released.

Blinking, she focused on her chamber. She was awake, alive, and breathing. She was safe, at home, and this was her realm, called by the name of their bloodline, Lampiŕ. Her dream was lost to the day’s fading light, as it had disappeared so many times before.

Still, it was good to get one's bearings, when feeling so displaced. Looking around, she saw the fire in a large stone hearth burning brightly. Over it, hanging from the cathedral ceiling, clippings and bunches of herbs were drying. The wooden trim around her room bore protective glyphs known only by her people. Even the smooth, flat stones of the floor had these carvings engraved into them by the request of her mother. She felt the warmth of her wine colored eiderdown draped across her huge bed with the matching heavy curtains hanging from all sides. Her heaps of books, scrolls, and tools of magic lay all about, and resins of incense from their invocations invoked the previous night, still scented the air.

Through arched windows to her right, a soft shade of dark violet night began to push away the dying light. Day was different in the Realm of Lampiŕ, compared to that of most realms. Its faint light was a soft, comfortable, having no harshness to its rays. Night, though, was more vivid and alive, when three buoyant lavender moons hung high above in its enveloping skies.

Creatures of night began to cry softly in the distance. A cool breeze moved through the balcony doors once she lazily pulled herself away from her bed and opened them. She could hear the mortal Phãegens beat their drums wildly in the lush, sparkling evergreen forests below. Their chants brought life and excitement to the souls, which could hear them. Their fires began to splash the purplish- midnight skies with soft hues of crimson. The light scents of ritual--smoke and sage-- clung to the air.

Her eyes became wide and alert. The bonfires were lit. Beal-Tene had fallen upon the face of the realms, giving breath to a season of spring, rebirth, and fertility. Because of this, her heart was comforted by the energy moving throughout the land, throughout TEŔAH itself, even though a part of her was still mournful for her lost dream. Confused by it, she grew hungry for the truth of those eyes.

Taking a few steps onto the balcony, itself, through the thick, heavy, boscage below her castle, she could see shadowy figures already starting to dance around gigantic bonfires. Dream or not, the song of the waking worlds began to call out to her. The Phãegens, who were the Moppães (children) of nature, were gathering, dancing, and reaching out to the Great God and Mother Goddess.

Samanthŕa knew the Phãegens would not remain there. They would soon move deeper into the mountains where the Vlachŕa-- most ancient and powerful Elders of the Lycãon bloodline--were holding their annual Beal-Tene ritual and celebration.

From one fire pit to the next, from realm to other realm, all life that served the Great God and Goddess, would move towards the great gala. They would take torches, bringing the flame from their own fires, to join with an even greater one. It was symbolic of all species, clans, and bloodlines who attended. They did so in order to show that they were as one, if only for one night. It was symbolic of a magical unity of each realm, in hopes of a prosperous and fertile year. It was more than magical. It was timeless.

She took a deep breath, thinking she'd better hurry. Those of the sacred twelve families and clans of her bloodlines would be attending the celebration. She was High Priestess. She would not, nor could she miss such an important celebration.

Standing before a large looking glass and brushing out her long raven hair, Samanthŕa's heart pounded away with anticipation. Her grayish blue eyes reflected the magic stirring in the night. They began to softly glow against the waning darkness. Her power was yawning within. It wanted to tap into the surrounding energies. Hurrying, she slipped on a black gown, which was embroidered with silver runic symbols along its delicate edges. She laced the silvery strings of the tight girdle upward towards the pushed up bodice. The color seemed to bring out the subtle warmth of her skin, which appeared to be sun kissed, even though she was a daughter of the blessed moons.

Hoping she wasn't running to far behind, she quickly returned to the balcony to see if the Phãegens had begun to move up the mountain. Once they lit their torches and entered the deep of the forests, all would see a trail of fire resembling that of a Drągýns tail. They would light other torches along the way, sticking them into the ground for others who attempted the journey. This Drągýns tail could be seen in many directions, from realm to other realms. Very symbolic, the tail would lead to the mouth of the Drągýn, an enormous body of fire, where the Vlachŕa awaited everyone’s arrival.

Someone's coming. Someone's near.

Samanthŕa instincts triggered her skin to feel a familiar shiver.

Her sister Dezarãe entered the room in a trail of mist. She materialized as quickly as spray seemed to dissolve. Oh good; I was hoping you were awake.

Dezarãe’s beauty was pure enchantment and when she smiled, the entire world lit. Her skin had the milky glow of the moon and all its mystery. Her long and curly hair held the pigments of the earth in its deep claret richness. It left one with the impression of something untamed and wild. Samanthŕa loved her dearly.

I see you’re ready to go. Samanthŕa stated the obvious. Dezarãe was probably dressed and ready hours ago, before the sun ever threatened to leave the sky. Have you heard anything from the rest of our sisters?

Oh yes!

And are they coming?

Yes, yes! Dezarãe beamed brighter than the stars. Sameŕald is bringing Jezaŕah and Keysãe. Samaŕah and Morrgãyne will be along shortly after that. Dezarãe turned and then fussed over herself in the mirror. She fidgeted with her forest, velvet dress, which couldn’t help but flatter her curvaceous figure. The bodice edges around her breasts were woven with golden threads, no doubt spun by the Sephŕel creatures of the Elemental Realms. The Sephŕel were shy little things with golden skin, hair, eyes, and wings unless they were males, and then they were silver. They stood about three feet high and were obsessed with spinning and weaving. They sang enchantments over the material they used, a type of web, which was released from their claw-tipped fingers. And when they sang, the web changed to thread, becoming strong, enchanted, and unbreakable.

Samanthŕa looked outside and saw that the trail of fire had begun. She thought of her other sisters, now, who she and Dezarãe would have to wait for. How pointless it was for them to be traveling this night. If their father, Dĩas, had left things alone, then they would already be here. And that truth brought another aggravation to mind . . .

Dĩas had decided that all seven of them needed to live separately. He had sent her sisters to live with their different mothers of assorted bloodlines, while Samanthŕa and Dezarãe -- having the same mother -- remained here with him.

Seven sisters were born on the same night under the same alignment of stars and moons. Their bonds were unbreakable.

If he thinks that separating us would sever that, her mind hissed, then he’s a bloody fool.

Samanthŕa clenched her fists as she remembered him saying at the time, Nothing but mischief and headache would result if I allowed them all to live under the same roof.

That night she held back her tears as her sisters were taken away. The only thing that kept those tears imprisoned was . . . even then, as her heart shattered into a million pieces, she knew that her sisters were the lucky ones. She couldn’t help but believe in that as she stared coldly at her father, who wasn’t even fazed by their leaving.

She might have acted out, so that she could have left as well, but Dĩas would never send Samanthŕa to live with her mother Chymeŕah, although he had threatened to send Dezarãe, and would, if he felt he had no other choice.

Why not? Chymeŕah was a