The Coming Of The Young One - Fictional Novel

[Kokeshi_Doll769]

laugh I will get to it, I promise you. I kind of lost the manuscript (it's packed away somewhere) but since I have to go through everything I packed before my move out to Hawaii I will find it and get crackin'. I promise promise

[Richcelt]

Pada-Wan Kenobi:

Burned? No! But this was good! I mean, who starts a long story like this and never finishes it?

 

*ducks*

ahem rock

[irishdancer2]

Kokeshi_Doll769:

laugh I will get to it, I promise you. I kind of lost the manuscript (it's packed away somewhere) but since I have to go through everything I packed before my move out to Hawaii I will find it and get crackin'. I promise promise

Yay!!!

[ghurka]

w007!

[Chris Oakley]

There any more where this came from?

[irishdancer2]

*cough* Oh, look what I just accidentally bumped up! *cheesy grin*

 

Seriously, though, I've see Kokeshi_Doll around a lot lately, so I'm thinking this thing should get going again

[Kokeshi_Doll769]

goodness gracious me. It lives on. I guess I really do have to dig up a manuscript somewhere...the closest one may be back home in Boise though. Blah. I guess I'll do some excavating. Hee!

[ShadowDog]

Ooooo, I'll be to hit this later when I have time to read.

[Richcelt]

goodness gracious me. It lives on.

 

This was too good to be deleted during our many forum shifts, so I made sure to save it during those times.

 

I think at least one of Pada's is still in here somewhere too. (If we could just convince her to come back and finish it off)

[Kokeshi_Doll769]

OK GUISE. I'll try to update this about once a week, possibly more once school finishes here in the next few weeks. It would appear I stopped with Chapter 16...so. On to Ch. 17. ps. also I'll be tweaking as I go along, so if the voice suddenly seems a lot more...together (lol)...it's because of the experience I've had in writing since I last updated.

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

Sheila Whitman awoke suddenly, sitting bolt upright in bed. Through her window, the first rays of dawn glimmered faintly, casting an ethereal glow about the room. She could see no reason why she had awakened so suddenly. She shook her red head and pushed the covers back softly, climbing out of bed. It wouldn't hurt to check on Scott and Jen and Alys.

 

First she looked in on Scott. He was sprawled across his bed, the bedclothes twisted and turned totally around. He was snoring loudly, and Sheila pulled the door softly shut with a wry smile on her lips. Jen's room was next; her daughter was sleeping quietly, everything in perfect order. She pulled Jen's door gently shut, then moved to the last doorway, hand outstretched and ready to grasp the doorknob. But Alys's door was flung wide and Sheila, suddenly wary, grew increasingly uneasy as she stepped slowly inside, her brown eyes sweeping the room. Something was not right here.

 

"Alys?" Sheila said softly. There was no reply. The desk chair lay on it's side in the middle of the floor, and Alys's covers were flung back. Her paperweight was on its side on the floor, and Sheila absently picked it up and set the blocky thing on Alys's desk. A cool breeze teased tendrils of her red hair across her face, and she saw the window was wide open. The white and blue curtains fluttered as the breeze batted them back and forth. Sheila moved to the open window, the breeze suddenly chilling her. She shut it and then turned back to face the room. Then she noticed something else. There were claw and teeth marks around the handle of the door. They belonged to something big, no doubt about it. But what? Sheila's brown eyes narrowed as she studied the splintered wood. A shadow fell across the doorway, startling her, but it was only a sleepy-eyed Terrence. He yawned, blinking at her.

 

"Darling? What's the matter? What's-" he began, then caught sight of the empty bed and the room in a mess. "Wrong..." he finished, trailing off. Sheila went to him, her brow furrowed with worry.

 

"She's gone, Terrence. I...she's not here. I found the room like this. And look," she said quietly, pointing to the marks around the doorknob. Terrence knelt next to the door, examining the gouges that marred the fine wood.

 

"Now what do you suppose..." he mumbled, half to himself. Abruptly he stood, his mouth set in a grim, worried line. "Honey, wake Scott and Jen. I'm going to call the police."

 

Sheila placed a small hand on her husband's arm. "Terrence, do you think...?" She couldn't finish the question and looked away as tears came. Terrence took hold of her shoulders gently but firmly, forcing her to look at him.

 

"Sheila, no. Alys wouldn't-"

 

Sheila glared up at him, startled to find herself suddenly angry with her husband. "Wouldn't she, Terrence? She was acting so strangely yesterday. Maybe...maybe it's just finally happened."

 

Startled by her tone, he released her and she turned from him, brushing away the anger with her tears. They were both silent for a moment, and still. Then she went to wake Jen and Scott while Terrence went downstairs and dialed the police station.

 

"Hello? Hello. Yes, please...thank you...hello? Hello, officer. Yes. My name's Terrence Whitman, I need to report a missing person...our daughter." There was a brief pause. "Her name's Alys Morganhorn. Yes, Morganhorn...she's adopted...seventeen years of age, about five foot tall, auburn hair...er. Yeah, if you could do that we'd appreciate it. Thank you officer. Bye." Terrence hung up the phone and turned to find Sheila, Scott, and Jen all looking at him with wide eyes. He went to them and gave them each a hug.

 

"Dad?" Jen's voice broke the silence. "What's happened? Where did she go? Are they going to find her?" Her eyes were wide, touched with anxiety. Terrence slowly shook his head.

 

"I don't know honey. I don't know." He hugged Jen close again, as much for his comfort as for hers, and gently kissed the top of her head. The four of them huddled around the kitchen table, drawing strength from each other. They sat that way for a long time, until a knock at the door broke the silence. They all jerked involuntarily, then glanced at each other and the door. Then Terrence pushed himself up and went to answer it, the other three trailing anxiously at his heels. He opened the door and blinked at the smartly dressed policemen who stood on the porch.

 

"Morning, Mr..."

 

"Whitman. I'm Terrence Whitman, I'm the one who placed the call. Please...come in. There's something we'd like you to have a look at while you're here." Terrence extended a hand to the officer, who shook it firmly. Then the huddled family stepped and shuffled aside as the officers came into the house. The first officer took off his hat and tucked it beneath his arm, pulling out a little notepad and pen.

 

"I'm Officer Craig, this is MacMillan. Can you tell me...where was the subject last seen and with whom?" The pen was poised and hovering. Sheila and Terrence glanced at each other, briefly. Sheila cleared her throat.

 

"Ah, the subject is my daughter...and she was with us, last night. She was going to bed. We all were." The pen scribbled furiously.

 

"And when did you discover that the subject, er, your daughter was missing?"

 

"Just this morning, about 3 hours ago. I...woke up and decided to look in on my kids and when I got to Alys's room I found the door open and everything in a mess, which is very unlike her. She's usually very neat." More scribbling, accompanied by some nodding. MacMillan stood off to one side, shifting his weight from foot to foot, obviously more than a little uncomfortable. Craig cleared his throat and looked back up at Sheila.

 

"I was told your daughter was adopted?" Sheila nodded, not trusting her voice in the wake of a sudden swell of emotion. "Could you give me a brief description, please. Or a picture?" Sheila's eyes slid to the large family portrait they had hanging on the wall in the anteroom. She gestured briefly, trying to maintain her composure as her eyes lit on her daughter's lovely, smiling face. She'd never noticed the sadness there before, but it was there, in her eyes.

 

Officer Craig blinked, and turned to study the portrait. Sheila and Terrence sat in the middle, with Scott standing behind and between them, and Jen and Alys on either side. Craig rubbed a hand along his jaw and scribbled a few more notes. Then he grunted and turned back to Sheila.

 

"Any particular distinguishing features? Scars...moles...that sort of thing?"

 

A wry smile tugged at Sheila's mouth. "She has silver eyes, officer." Craig's eyebrows shot up, then one lowered and he studied her for a moment or two longer than necessary. Once he seemed sure that Sheila was completely serious, he scribbled that down as well, then flipped the notebook closed.

 

"Well, if that's all then we'll be going, folks. We'll be sure to keep you updated." He turned to go, MacMillan doing the same with evident relief. Terrence cleared his throat and laid a hand on the doorknob.

 

"If you could take a look at our daughter's room before you leave?" he asked, politely. Craig glanced at Terrence, then at his hand on the knob, and then gave a small polite smile and nodded. Sheila and Terrence led the way upstairs, MacMillan opting to stay where he was in the entryway, and Scott and Jenn huddling together there as well.

 

"We wanted you to see this in particular...we'd appreciate if you'd include them in your report," Terrence said, gesturing to the mangled wood around the doorknob on Alys's door. The policeman's brow furrowed, and he squatted down to get a closer look, opening his notebook again. Sheila and Terrence exchanged a look over his head.

 

"Well...I can't say what that might be from, personally...I don't really have any experience in forensics, myself. But I'll make a note of it and make sure it gets around at the station," Craig said, his manner a bit more respectful than it had been when he first arrived with his partner. He stood again, putting his cap back on his head, and with a nod to the both of them headed downstairs and out the door with MacMillan. The family stood for a moment, regarding the door sadly, then made their way back into the kitchen to sit around the table again. Sheila started a pot of coffee, moving mechanically as she set out sugar and creamer and mugs for all of them. Jen watched her mother, feeling her nose crinkle in that funny way it did just before she would cry.

 

"They'll find her," she said, her voice strained and choked with emotion. "We'll find her. We have to."

[Kokeshi_Doll769]

Ah hell. Why not another one?

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

The withered, bent figure of Kellen the Healer moved silently and efficiently about his immaculate infirmary. He went to each of the three patients in turn, making sure they were comfortably positioned and warm beneath their blankets. This old pile of rocks everyone liked to call the Fortress got quite drafty and chilly. When he reached the bed where the Young One lay, he paused. Her auburn hair was a dark fan on the white pillow, her pale face wan and sad. Her breathing was deep and even though, which Kellen knew was a good sign. He gently and carefully examined her bandaged arm. The burns, though severe, looked to be healing nicely. There was still quite a bit of weeping from some of the deeper cuts and claw wounds elsewhere on her body, but the fluid was clear and thin, a sign that there was no infection present and the body was going about healing itself.

 

A soft moan distracted him from his study of the young woman. It was the young Mage, Gregor. As hopeful as the girl's condition was, Gregor's was the exact opposite. He had been badly mauled. Kellen, in his age and wisdom, was doubtful that the young man would pull through, especially if he didn't show signs of improvement within the next day or so. The lacerations that covered his strong body were long, deep, and strategically placed; whatever had attacked him was powerful and efficient and had attacked to kill. He had lost more blood than was safe, causing his skin to take on the slightest of pallors, and many of the cuts were infected. His breathing was shallow and labored, and a fever raged through his body. Kellen moved to stand next to the youth's bed, feeling the heat of the fever even from that distance. His old brow furrowed with concern. From the bedside table, he dipped a clean rag in a bowl of lukewarm water and placed it across Gregor's forehead. If they could not break this fever soon, they almost certainly would lose him.

 

He was consumed enough by the task and concern for Gregor that he didn't notice when Alys woke until she tried to sit up and failed, exhaustion winning the battle. Kellen's head snapped up, concern heightening, and he took her another pillow and helped her prop herself up. She blinked at him as he took her wrist and felt for her pulse.

 

"Where am I? Who are you? And where's Toren? And the young man we saved, his friend?"

 

Kellen gently replaced her arm at her side, his frothy beard hiding his grin. She lay back against the pillows, still incredibly tired. She'd never been so tired in her life. She continued to watch him though, as he busied himself with straightening her covers. Then he pulled the stool from the corner and sat himself down next to her bed, drawing a hand through his beard.

 

"You're in an infirmary. I am called Kellen. Toren is in the next bed, and Gregor in the one next to that."

 

Alys felt more than a little naked beneath his piercing gaze. She mentally scanned herself to be sure she was still wearing clothing and completely covered by the blankets. She was.

 

"May I inquire your name, lady?" Kellen intoned, seemed to sense her feeble distress. Alys found herself blushing.

 

"I'm Alys. Uh, Morganhorn. And I'm not really a lady," she said, feeling her cheeks grow warm with memories of less-than-ladylike things she'd done as a younger girl. Kellen dimpled through his beard, his face suddenly appearing much younger. Alys found herself smiling back at him, a smile that faded when she looked over at her companions, falling on Toren first and then finding Gregor. Her voice was a soft, anguished moan. "Oh...oh my. Is he going to be all right?"

 

Kellen followed her gaze, his face also becoming grim and once again careworn. He shook his snow-white head. "I do not know, my Lady Alys. He has suffered much, and continues to suffer. His condition is not promising. He does not seem to be healing as he should..." He looked back at Alys to find her looking at him strangely.

 

"What...did you call me?"

 

Kellen was taken aback. "My Lady Alys. You are the Young One, are you not?"

 

Frustration crept into Alys's voice. She could feel the emotion draining what little reserve she had left. "I don't know. That's what everyone keeps telling me lately, but all I know is I have no clue what it's supposed to mean or even why that's what I am. I don't even really know who I am."

 

Kellen was even more shocked. "You mean you don't know?" Alys mustered as much of a glare as her exhausted body could manage. He cleared his throat, suddenly chagrined. "I apologize, my Lady...around here, everyone knows. It is...a shock to find someone who hasn't the least clue about the Young One, least of all the girl who will assume that role."

 

Alys straightened in her bed, more curious now than angry, but that may have been because she felt she didn't have enough energy to be angry anymore. Kellen held up his hand, shaking his head. "You ought to rest, Lady Alys. Your body is healing well but if you push yourself now you will undo all the good that has come while you've been resting and perhaps even worsen your condition. Please. You need more sleep."

 

The two looked at each other for what seemed a long time, but Alys finally gave way to Kellen's gentle insistence and lay back against the pillows once more, letting her exhaustion flood through her. The exchange had taken more out of her than she wanted to admit. Then again, she was too tired to care that that was the case. Her eyes drooped shut, and she heard Kellen move the stool back into the corner and open the door.

 

"Wait," she managed to make her mouth say. She heard the healer pause. "What's his name?" Another pause, a little longer than the last one. The reply was soft.

 

"Gregor Kaye."

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

All that day, the dark things of the Chaos crept back to their own burrows and caves within the forbidding Wulfsbanne. They had failed to claim the Young One before dawn, and the Lord of Chaos was, putting it mildly, less than pleased with them. He had been dangerously silent ever since his return to the craggy mountain just after dawn. He now bore the satyr's face, which seemed permanently twisted into a mask of rage. He had locked himself into the cavern in which he had been Reborn and paced about all day, muttering and cursing to himself. He lit neither torch nor candle, but kept himself in utter, soothing blackness. He slowly felt himself returning to a more reasonable state of being and with it returned the ability to think clearly and logically, which was what he needed. He still had other resources, other options available to him for securing the girl for himself.

 

Mentally he summoned Shadda.

 

Within moments he felt the powerful black body land silently in front of him. The creature bowed low and respectfully. Jagganath felt himself relax further. He knew Shadda to be completely loyal and had every confidence in him to accomplish this important task.

 

"My master," the creature murmured in a low, sibilant voice. It raised itself up from it's bow and dropped into an easy, ready crouch. Jaggonath allowed his hand to slide over the sleek, graceful head, reassuring himself with the solidity of his most faithful minion.

 

"Shadda. I want to...congratulate...you on the find job you did with that arrogant young Mage." A small, cruel smile played over Lord Jaggonath's mouth. "I intercepted them just before they reached the fortress and the Young One and her protector were carrying him. He was barely alive...I doubt he'll live." He felt the barely restrained desire ripple through the werebeast.

 

"It was difficult to leave him so, my Lord, but so he was left," the beast hissed, drawing his lips back over his numerous and wicked teeth. Jaggonath felt his smile grow as he observed his minion. Shadda was covered with sleek, silky black fur, and it was drawn tight over powerfully built coils of muscle. His hands and feet were like those of a human, and he could walk upright but he preferred to lope along quickly on all fours. When he flexed his hands, barbed and poisoned claws slid from each fingertip. His eyes were a chilling shade of white, most like the pale underbelly of a dead fish. His face was vaguely feline, and though his ears were set on the sides of his head like a humans, they were slightly larger than normal and tufted. Jaggonath stroked the sleek head one more time before steepling his fingers and addressing the creature.

 

"I have another task for you. Now that the Young One has been brought through the Portal, her mortal family will be worrying...I want you to shape change, Shadda. I want you to become the girl...dispell their fears for a time, invent a better excuse for suddenly disappearing than she did, and return to me as soon as you can. Am I clear?"

 

Shadda rumbled deep in his barrel chest, replying in his strange syntax. "My Lord you are. But in order to change, contact...I must have. I have not, this child, seen nor touched."

 

"Yes, Shadda, I know. But you have killed others who are loyal to the order...shift into one of them and infiltrate their stronghold. Then do whatever you deem necessary short of a kill in order to obtain the physical contact you need. Of course, you know better than to kill within the fortress. Am I understood?"

 

Shadda grudgingly acknowledged the order not to kill and ran his tongue over his teeth. "I understand. I go now, my Lord." With that, he turned and loped easily off. Jaggonath watched him go, his pupils dilated so far that none of the iris showed.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Shadda sniffed the air outside of the Wulfsbanne, scenting it. His strangely-colored eyes darted this way and that, missing nothing. He crouched close to the ground, keeping to the shadows that hugged the base of the mountain. There was little or no undergrowth on the death-blasted plain to shelter his movement. He looked at the sun, guaging there to be a few more hours left of daylight. At dusk, he would move. He travelled quickly, there would be more than enough time to shift closer to the Fortress and happily that prevented him from having to travel too far in a clumsy human body. For now...he licked his chops and curled in on himself, falling asleep at once as easily as his feline counterparts do.

[Richcelt]

Ah hell. Why not another one?

 

Why not?

 

Actually, I'm going to have to catch up on this and then read the updates, but probably tomorrow when I have more time. Thanks for continueing this in the mean time.

 

[Ahnold]I'll be back.[/Ahnold]

 

[Chris Oakley]

Looks like this thread has stalled again.