Child of the Sun: Part I

Rouen, Normandy, France 1487 A.D.

The barn door was wide open, rusty on its hinges and stained with water. Air seemed to ignite with every crack of thunder, the lightning baring two bodies on the floor with their necks torn out. They had lain there for days, waiting for their purpose, like props, as if the play had been set, the actors merely late in coming. Cross-legged, almost hidden behind a bale, Lucian could just make out his reflection, the sharp edges of knives and sickles swinging from the rafters, reflecting his blood-encrusted face a hundred times. Greasy, wet hair hanging past his shoulders, the beard matted where it met his throat. Above him, freezing water leaking through the half-timbered roof and thatch, trailing down the rafters, dripping onto his skin. Try as the weather might, it could not clean him. Cold to the bone, he stared through the night's rain, almost blind in the darkness, waiting for the messenger to appear. The straw scratching through his shirt, smelling of mud and mildew. The first traces of rot wafting up through the air. How long had he waited? A night…a week…the smells would draw her on, but she had waited until the moon was gone. Only a moment longer before he could see her dimly across the field, his eyesight fuelled by the lightning, his hand reaching deep into the straw.

He had known it would be her…

Hair braided into a knot, almost black, the peasant-dress hiding limbs too pale to have ever worked in the sun. How many years since he had seen her face? She was not afraid of him, this one. Her teeth were like shards, her skin older than he remembered. Lightning flashed again, the sheets of rain coming down harder, the silver-tipped axe glinting in her hand. Mindless of the axe, her true weapon would be much smaller, hidden away on her person. Far more dangerous, the silver pin slipped into the neck than the axe carved into the side. Look sharp, look small, she had always taught him. A lycan will gouge his neck off before such a dart will come loose. A final crack and she stepped through the doorway, elegant as ever, eyeing the space above, the corners and ground. There were no exits, the wooden walls solid enough to turn any escape into a trap. Her gaze did not stumble on the bodies, the human retainers sent on ahead to be met with teeth. To the point, she focused instead on his hidden weapon, the knife in the wet straw…

"Do not resist," she said coolly to him, aiming her axe towards the knife. Her voice was deep, almost musical for all its sinister quality. "Lord Viktor is kind, and by his mercy, I am told to bring you a message. Return to the coven and the council will absolve you of your sins."

"Then I accept," he replied dismissively, drawing the knife out and tossing it aside. "What of my people? The women and children. Are they to be absolved as well?" Absolution meant death for lycans. There were so few of them left. The war all but lost. They could not risk another onslaught.

"Those who confess loyalty will be reinstated." Her explanation was matter-of-fact, yet the angle of the axe dipped, the result of her hand tightening on the handle. Even now, she expected him to acknowledge her rank, grimacing at his lack of respect… She continued, her chin raised arrogantly over his disregard for her title… "Traitors will be dealt with in a manner befitting their rank…"

He only smiled, a bitter half-grin lacking in humour. He had expected as much. The terms of surrender would not change, and the moment he stepped within that encampment, he would burn. Only vampires had the privilege of living after the council had purged them of guilt…

…and only some, at that.

"Fitting that it should be by fire…" he whispered, almost to himself, thinking of what was to come. What had already occurred. His heart was pounding. He had not eaten for days. He would not touch the bodies, the baited props. It did not matter. He had come here for this purpose. He had left his scattered troops, the wounded, the weak, a line of Dante flowing onto his tongue. "…the mighty flame follows the spark, does it not?"

"The Sword," she corrected smoothly, ignoring the import of his words, speaking as if he were too dense to understand the law. "You will die by sword. Absolution will burn your name from the records, and that is all the flame that is needed." She pursed her lips thoughtfully before continuing. "You will die with guardian's honour, Lucian. There is no need to fear on that account. Lord Viktor has decreed it. His word is binding…"

"Do not speak to me of honour," he growled softly, his hand starting to clench. He was no longer a guardian. He did not need their tainted honour system, their bigotry. That they would try to tempt him with principles he had rejected. Instantly he could smell the change in her scent.

No sign of menace other than a quiet turn of the axe, yet her cheekbones had become hard, the bones tighter. Harder still to smooth resentment from his own face when covered with her servants' blood. Compellingly, he steadied himself, tasting the rainwater…tasting salt. He needed to keep her to calm. He needed to keep her talking before the meeting went sour. Surrender aside, there was still one more reason for his presence here. One more thing he needed to know before they left for the encampment…

"Three years ago…"

"Speak up…" she ordered sharply.

"I said…" Purposefully, he raised his voice, staring her squarely in the eye."Three years ago, you stood in confidence with my…" His voice faded, unable to find the word. The taste of salt on his tongue, salt in the rainwater… Bloods, not now. Swallowing, he looked away, his eyes on the bodies, the rotting corpses, focusing the name far from his mind, taking control before sorrow could find its way through the lock. A single name. So simple, yet he could not say it. "…my wife."

In the corner of his eye, the axe drooped, the sweeping laugh echoing beneath the storm."Your what?" She was laughing at him… "How can you call her so? Did you not confess at the trial? A signed confession swearing that she was never your…"

"Viktor's daughter then," he snarled forcefully over the thunder, the harsh truth of this poisonous woman. He would not argue against lies he himself had told. She had been his wife though the council would not recognize it. He only cared for answers now. The records kept by the vampire elders since the council began its reign. Records that this vampire had seen and signed. "…you stood for her. You declared her statement before the trial. You were there when Viktor judged her status…"

"Fool," she remarked lightly, swinging the axe onto her shoulder. "The entire coven was there. Over the fortnight, Lord Viktor gave her the chance to revoke her statement. She chose to be judged as a lycan traitor, subject to all the punishments of your kind. She knew her death was coming."

"Not the fortnight," he said, grinding his reply, recalling the time with unease, a degree of restlessness. An eternity spent in the solitude. Pain. Torture. They had kept him alive only for his final statement at the end, a useless attempt to sway the guilt during the trial. How easy it had been confessing to the multitude of sins they accused him of. "I speak of the final hours…" Dryness in his throat. "…two nights before her…death. In her solitude, she was visited twice. There were pages torn from the records. Names blacked out. …"

"You speak of records you could not have seen," she said smoothly. "Records that remain intact. There were no pages torn. Names were not blacked out." Her voice was almost sweet. Soothing except for the iron edge. "…who told you these lies, lycan?"

"I assure you, they were not lies," he whispered suddenly, looking up into her face. Almost smiling with teeth that could only clench, fiercely beseeching her to understand what he had done in his rage. A year ago, he had found Philius scratching away at his parchment. Philius who had taught him numbers, scratching away with his ink, forever recording the deaths of others. He had dragged the facts out until the old historian had screamed. The trial, the records, the names. All of it meaningless. Incomplete. "…you must tell me what happened in that room. You must…"

"You would do best to forget this," she remarked dangerously, focusing on the sickles behind him. "For all that you have been granted mercy, dredging up the past will not change it."

"Then why do you fear to answer me?" His voice was growing tight…desperate.

"I do not fear. I simply understand that this knowledge will change nothing. Leniency cannot be shown to traitors…" She paused significantly, and then shrugged, narrowing her eyes as if his request was one of idiocy."…but since you are adamant, boy, I will humour you." It was the look of a games-mistress before she punished her dogs. "The first visit, Lord Viktor took the prisoner in question aside and spoke with her. By his order, she was to be absolved and reinstated with all the rights and privileges accorded to one of the Blood." Her tone was apathetic. "Naturally, the following hour, the order was overturned by the council. The lady was informed and all record of the incident was wiped clean from the slate." She tilted her head coyly. "Surely you could have deduced that for yourself, boy?"

As if centuries had not passed, she had called him boy, his desperation only prompting her to look down upon him as if he were a child of twelve. As if he were still under her thumb, serving her… He breathed the word, tasting it, letting it fester upon his tongue… boy…

…it paled in comparison to the one that rolled off his tongue.

"Reinstatement?"

He leaned forward, almost choking with the underlying rage. Impossible to quell, even for the sake of this truce. Within the week, they would chop his head off…and all she had to offer was this…lie? This paltry seed to combat starvation…

Something snapped.

"…do you think I care a whit whether my wife was reinstated or not?" His voice was shaking, seething on par with the storm. "Do you think that is enough? Your pawning of lies, the magnanimous Viktor sweeping his daughter from the muck back onto her pedestal?"

Immediately, the vampire's lips drew back in defence, but he barged right over her.

"Because I will tell you what I think…" Dark, bitter chords on his breath. "…I think there is more to this tale, Yllaria. Six hours behind closed doors with neither Philius nor Tanis to enter the room. Strange that there was a record held during that meeting, words blackened and burned, and only your signature to show for it." Rage on his tongue, he could feel the change underneath, just out of reach. Always out of reach. "There is a reason my wife died in absolution. There is a reason she was executed almost a month before her appointed time." Hissing, the woman made to speak, but again he snarled before she could protest. "She was my wife, Yllaria! Do not think of disputing that after she was burned for it."

Lightning glanced off the axe.

It was not only his own rage that he smelled among the dead now…and in a moment, her eyes had changed. Yllaria. He had used her name. Yllaria who had trained him from birth. Yllaria whom he had served as a child. The shock of seeing her signature…that name he had once trusted. She took a step closer, the axe rising in her hand. "There is no more to tell, whelp…"

"Do not lie to me," he growled, ignoring the excuses, the records ingrained in his memory, every word memorized as if doing so could bring his wife back. Only missing pages to tell him something had happened. "You sat with her that night. You counselled her, you comforted her. Empty promises when you knew she would die the following morning…why?"

"I did my duty, boy," the woman hissed, the storm starting to build behind her, the doors swinging back against the wind. "We all did our duty."

"Hang your duty," he snarled. Even as he spoke, he could see it. Tendrils of smoke weaving through her hair, darkness spreading across her skin until there was nothing but ash. Pain rising in his gut at the memory. "Where was duty when William with all his bloodshed was given a chance to live?"

"That is enough!" The axe swung into the dirt with a thud. "You know nothing of these matters, boy. Nothing. Your knowledge is like a drop beside the ocean that is Viktor's understanding. Imagine then, how fortunate you are to receive his mercy after you have brought about his daughter's death. Power and justice, that is the edict of the vampires."

"Bondage and suffering," he replied sharply. "That is one for my lycans and wife. She gave you her trust and you burned her for it…" Power and justice. Words she had taught him as a child. Words that every lycan had submitted to for the past two hundred years. It was cold cynicism, the bitterness of the past three years spent contemplating his solitude. "…your power is undeserving. Your justice is corrupt."

"How dare you…" Enraged, she was drawing closer, the axe wrenched from the ground, starting to turn faster. She was preparing to strike. There would be much pain before he reached the encampment. "You will feel silver, and then you will return to be judged, lycan!"

"When I stand trial, teacher," he growled, almost clawing against the straw-covered ground, shoving himself back, avoiding the axe by inches, unable able to stop the words. "…it will not be for judgment. Eighty lashes before the sword. I was judged!"

The axe stilled so quickly, the sound of metal glancing through the air as an echo. He blinked, shocked at the word that had come out of his mouth. She was breathing hard, staring at him, almost at a loss.

Teacher.

…he had not called her that in centuries. It was the word that had brought her to a halt. He as well…for it had slipped out. As a child, he had spent years under her tyranny. His parents dead, his understanding based on the words of one who treated him worse than dirt. Yet through all of it, he had believed. He had listened. The meaning of honour, sacrifice, the guardian's code.

Did she think he'd forgotten?

"Death, honour, and sacrifice." He swallowed, conscious of the sticky pause, getting the words out before she struck. Before she remembered her own cruelty. "I believed you …" And suddenly he could feel it. Regret. The worst of teachers…and the best. He had known no mother save for her. Perhaps the only lycan in history to take her guidance to heart despite the brutality. "…I welcomed my death."

The moment passed.

"Of course you welcomed it," she hissed vehemently. "…I taught you to do so. Upon reflection, I should never have spoken so well of you to Lord Viktor. You disrespect those who are better than you."

"Then kill me if you will," he growled… "…but just tell me why she was burned. Do yourself that much honour before we creep back to your coven of rot."

Her eyes flashed. "This matter is closed…"

"Why?!"

"…because she was with child," she snapped suddenly, the thunder silencing itself. Only the rain to accompany her admonition. The storm outside howling, freezing wind making every drop feel like ice. Rain falling in sheets, water slashing its way through the open door.

Sonja.

A sharp pain formed in his chest…

Why could he not speak? Seconds passing away as he stared at her. A simple lie. It was not…possible. It was absurd. The woman was lying to him as before. She had to be. The axe was forgotten. The world was starting to lose its focus. In all his fury, the world had stilled and he could not take it. He could not take this. "That is…" Unbalanced, he found himself shaking his head, struggling to breathe. His chest was hollow. "…not possible."

"It is the truth."

"But she could not have…"

"A half-breed lycan devil growing inside her womb," the vampire cut in, her face almost gruesome in the lightning. "Half vampire, half lycan, bred on the hills, amid fire and water and war. A son of William and Markus' line. Yes, even that Lord Viktor gauged from her blood." She let her axe fall to the side. "Why do you think it was he that pushed for the execution? So fast, after the reinstatement, the council signed and she was burned. Viktor himself examined her blood."

"I did not father any half-breed," he snarled, desperate, sick with the only possibility he could think of. Even if she had been, the child…it could not have been his. Thoughts of the nights she had spent alone in the camp, a lone vampire surrounded by lycans. There had been half-lycans among his ranks. Only one of them could have… No, he would not even think on it. "I am…full lycan. My breeding, my records…you raised me, Yllaria. My sire stemmed from Julius' line; my mother, a common whore culled for her disobedience. We cannot father children upon vampires. The union held no danger of…"

"You are half-lycan," she yelled abruptly, almost spitting in her ire. It would seem the night held no boundaries for the divulging of secrets. "You, Lucian. The last whelp under the moon, and your mother was no whore. A distant niece of William and Markus' line, drowned like the rest, thanks to Amelia." Teeth bared, she took a step forward, kicking the muddy straw at him. "Even Sonja showed fear once she knew."

"She…" He shook his head, flinching at the name he could not form. "…no, you are lying." It was almost a moan. Grief and mourning, the howling, an emptiness in his throat, rain on his face and the feeling of gauntness in his chest. Memories of breath and touch, her hand resting on his side, stroking the skin beneath his shirt. He could not take this…not again.

"It was a mercy, Lucian." Yllaria smiled, the very image of cruelty on the lips of a demon. "The child would have torn its way out had we not burned it."

"You do not know that." His voice was shaking.

"It is not my place to know. The penalty was death, the child to be purged." Yllaria crooked her hand once, the final order for a lycan to rise. There was no pity in her eyes. "For the sake of peace, boy, forget this matter. You have shamed me and the guardianship which you betrayed. Adapt yourself to Viktor's wishes before I take your head for ever having touched his daughter. Defy me, and I guarantee my axe will be quicker than fire."

To be continued…

A/N: Hello readers. Consider this the first in a series of shortfics with Lucian's memories at different points in history. The second part of this should be up sometime next week. (As a sidenote, Yllaria is entirely made up, so in a few months when Rise of the Lycans comes out, this story will not fit perfectly with the canon. Though I have made Lucian a halfbreed, he is not aware of this until Yllaria tells him. He's also not aware of the little blue half-breed Sonja was carrying around in her armour. Probably wondering why her corset wasn't fitting so well any more...)

Please read and review!