Katalin: The Blood and the Relic

By J.A. PICCIANO

The story of Katalin begins with a twist of fate as Mortis, the son of a great king, is betrayed at his birth. As Mortis grows, his life is in a state of constant change as he experiences trust, love, manipulation, and death. Filled with many mythical creatures and terrifying monsters, the world of Katalin becomes a virtual chess game between good and evil, with Mortis as the crucial piecefor both sides. He is forced to choose, and makes a surprising decision to save the ones he treasures most. The cursed Mortis finds, as you will, that nothing is ever as it seems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467062251

J.A. PICCIANO

J.A. Picciano is from Kunkletown, Pennsylvania. His interests in fantasy, architecture, and medieval folklore surfaced as he created the world of Katalin. His seeds, first planted in a small composition book, eventually cultivated into this unique, complex, and ever-changing world. J.A. also enjoys studying Roman architecture, designing housing layouts, and experimenting with cooking.

Book preview

Contents

CHARACTER LIST

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHARACTER LIST

PROLOGUE

With the warm sand beneath his feet, Kort, who was a giant of a man, stared off into the distance, his outlook a vast ocean. The giant warrior thought deeply, looking down and eventually bending, digging his hands into the sand. He looked up again as he felt the tough grit of sand and stone between his enormous fingertips. Kort wondered: Would anyone remember his name? Would anyone remember the life he had lived? It was said there were gems throughout the world of Katalin. Some might tell the future, some might bring great luck. Kort’s mother used to tell him these tales when he was just a boy, but he had never thought anything of them. He wondered if his bravery in battle would ever be preserved, just as these great tales had.

Kort wandered into a dimly lit cave and found a small black pearl near a black glimmering gate. He picked up the pearl and thought to himself: I wish I would stay this age forever. Though at first unknown to Kort, the gem gave him exactly what he had asked for, but it also cursed him, forcing him to forever guard the black glimmering gate. No matter what he tried, Kort could not move more than three hundred yards away, and when he tried to run away, he found himself staring at the gate once again. So in a fit of rage, he tossed the black pearl far into the ocean. Kort then built a stone chapel within a few feet of the gateway, and it was said that the chapel had runes in every language covering every inch of its surface, telling his life story and the story of how the world was created.

For seven and a half thousand years, Kort faithfully guarded the gate, never letting anyone or anything pass through or emerge from it alive, until one day when a dark cloaked figure shaped like a man emerged. The man had black, razor-sharp claws. Kort drew his sword and charged the cloaked figure. This figure fought like nothing Kort had ever seen before. Kort had slain endless amounts of unimaginable horrors, but they fought for days until the cloaked figure at last dragged its claws across Kort’s chest, ripping into his flesh. With all his might, Kort grabbed the cloaked figure by the neck, lifting its body into the air. The cloaked figure quickly slashed Kort across the face, but Kort drove his sword through the side of the cloaked figure, its tip piercing its black heart and exiting out the other side, slaying him instantly.

Bleeding badly, Kort stumbled to his chapel and grabbed a small clay jar of blood out of a large wooden box with golden eagles carved into its sides. He dropped his sword into the wooden box and sealed it shut. He began slowly making his way back to the gate, knowing he had one thing left to do before his life came to an unforeseen end. As he stumbled down the stairs, he looked to his left toward the black gate and noticed a young woman looking into it. With the little strength he had left, Kort tossed the jar of blood through the gate, sealing it forever. He fell to the ground and looked up at the woman.

You are safe, Kort gasped, barely able to push the words from his wounded body.

You killed him, replied the woman with an air of utter shock and disbelief. Kort detected a hint of joy in her face.

The woman was irresistibly exotic. Her long black hair blew softly in the breeze. Her crimson eyes gazed down upon her flowing black dress. The dress fit her perfectly, as if she’d been poured into it, and thin blood-red piping lined the seams, hugging her curves. The woman bent down and began to fix her black sandals with knee-high straps.

Kort, slayer of immortals, has just slain the Dark One. With no named successor, a great civil war will begin until someone can claim the throne. He who can rule the living will gain the crown. The woman finished speaking just as Kort took his final breath. Then she vanished into thin air.

CHAPTER 1

The Mark of Blood

Screams echoed through the gardens and the dense halls of the cathedral. The sounds could be traced to a soft bed in the chapel where Queen Mira lay, her legs apart, with her husband, King Vorin, by her side.

It’s a boy, said the bishop, Father Arribus, as he picked the baby up, placed him upon the altar, and inspected him for flaws or illnesses.

The boy is perfect. King Vorin cast his gaze over at his beautiful wife. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead, and she was still panting slightly. The king kissed her brow. The bishop lovingly watched the royal couple and then asked, How shall he be known?

King Vorin held his head high and proclaimed, He shall be known as Mortis. My son. King Vorin let go of his wife’s hand and walked over to the altar. Father Arribus pulled out a six-inch curved blade with a golden hilt and slowly handed it to King Vorin. The king grasped the hilt tightly and stood over the baby. The royal newborn let out an aptly powerful cry. With one hand upon the hilt of the dagger, Vorin placed the blade against the palm of his other hand, slowly cut into his own flesh, and dripped his hot red blood onto Mortis’s head.

Blood is the river of life, a direct link to the soul. By this mark of blood, I ensure my son will be revered by his people and feared by his enemies. Vorin handed the dagger back to Arribus and wrapped his wounded hand with a piece of white cloth. Healers entered the chapel to attend to Queen Mira.

Thank you, Father. I consider you family now, Vorin whispered with soft gratitude.

Yes, my king. It is an honor, replied Father Arribus.

It is time, Father. Vorin asked Father Arribus to bundle up the child.

Father Arribus picked Mortis up off the altar and, with Vorin at his side, began to walk toward the gardens.

Baby Mortis looked up at the ancient brickwork and murals upon the walls, but as they passed into the next corridor, he saw a golden flag with white crosses on it flying proudly. He pointed at it, and a soft sound emerged from his mouth.

Vorin began to speak softly to the child, That’s the flag of our great kingdom, my son. You were born in one of the great wonders of the world, Mortis. This cathedral sits high above much of the city and is made from stones as old as Katalin itself.

As they passed through the great gardens, Mortis looked around at the vast colors the flowers brought to life. They approached the balcony, and sounds of joy came from the commoners below. Father Arribus’ robes, made of fine materials and rich colors, draped down as he began to lift the child up. As the priest held Mortis high into the air over the balcony he cried out, Long live Mortis, son of Vorin and heir to the throne of my kingdom, Polpin!

The entire city, apart from the laborers who continued to work, gathered to see the new baby prince. Cheers spread throughout the city, but one small family had an occasion of their own to attend. In a small house far from the cathedral but still within the walls of Valdor, there lay a woman named Jessa. Jessa was dressed in peasant clothes, but she lay in the same pose and had the same sweat beads on her forehead as Queen Mira. Jessa held her newborn son, Bale, who had the exact same features as the new prince, Mortis. Jessa was the queen’s assistant, as well as her closest friend.

Jessa put her soft lips right outside of her son’s ear and whispered, You will be my Mortis, prince of the world someday, low enough so that her husband and young daughter, Helen, could not hear. She then raised her volume and commanded the young child, "Get some