Post by beigeheart on May 6, 2010 15:22:36 GMT -5
The Forbidden Lore
Prologue
Prologue
“Step forward, Cherla." The seeker’s hiss seemed distant, as though the magnificent black cat was speaking from a far off world. But the seeker was there, gloating him on with eyes as black as night. Nyro’s paws couldn’t stop shaking, and he squashed the urge to howl bitterly into the heavens- for wouldn’t Sire and Sar save him? But he still had his pride; that was the one thing they could never take. For his pride was his spirit, and for honour, he would fight to the death. So Nyro stepped forward, head raised with a certain dignity that made those whom had been given the privilege to watch this ceremony, ashamed. He was not afraid to die.
Kyrie looked on, her oddly spotted fur gleaming in the moonlight while she watched her mate walk defiantly to his death. He suddenly turned his head to look straight at her, and the pride in his wide, strong eyes gave her peace at heart. For he was not afraid, and that made all the difference. As Nyro walked, up to the stone riverbed, to look down upon the Waves of Lore, her heart seemed to give way. In a last desperate attempt, she stepped forward, powered by the hope and courage in his pride filled face. And by love. At once, hundreds of snarls filled the air, seeming to blend into a single, broad voice. She did not flinch. Her head was raised proudly against them.
“Kyrie!” Nyro’s desperate wail rose above the prejudice of the Aiyla. The lead seeker stepped forward, a blaze of cruel contempt in his eyes that seemed to burn fear into her chest. She did not move. “Step back, Kyrie! Obey me, Jarta,” Nyro hissed, his desperation matched only by anger. Kyrie stared at her mate with fierce pride, eyes flickering with defiance and affection.
“Does not the Jarta share leadership with the Jarte?” Her voice carried through the angry Sparn like music. A gentle stream? “We must stand up for each other; if not for the chazzin, but because no one else will stand up for us! We must, ourselves,” and with an ending hiss, she sprang. Not for the bushes, but for the lead seeker, whose eyes widened in both surprise and admiration as he was challenged by a shira. The shock did not last, however, for Aiyla are very instinctual creatures, and will fight back. So the two beasts fought, locked together by jowls, claws, and flailing limbs; two black, one spotted goldenrod.
Nyro fought with the courage of all the Aiyla, for love made him stronger, but he could not fight them all alone. As if in ominous warning, thunder rumbled across the black sky. The two fighting split apart, and, the seeker, seeing her exposed throat, hesitated. Killing a Shira was sacrilege amongst the Chirro, and this gave Kyrie the advantage. The Shira lunged, and snapped her jaws shut tight around the seeker’s foreleg. As the black cat howled in pain, a seeker peer ran forward, as swift of the wind. One of his eyes were missing, for this was Keward! The most powerful fighter among the Aiyla, and also the most cruel, for he had broken the laws many times with no punishment. No one had the courage to face him.
“Kyrie!” Nyro called bitterly as the huge black warrior lunged for the back of her neck. Light flailed across the sky, blinding all, and when their vision cleared, a single Aiyla lay dead on the sacred grounds.
“How?” Nyro whispered.
