All Worlds
Fantasy And Science Fiction
Series Starters
Kristie Lynn Higgins
www.KristieLynnHiggins.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
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Table Of Contents
AabiLynn's Dragon Rite #0
Beauty of the Beast #1 The Mystic Rose: Part A
Shades of Gray #1 Noir, City Shrouded By Darkness
AabiLynn's Dragon Rite
#0
Dragon's Brood
Egg Hatchlings' Ritual
Prequel Teaser
Book One of the Series
Text Copyright © 2014 by Kristie Lynn Higgins
Cover Art Copyright © 2014
www.KristieLynnHiggins.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
AabiLynn (uh'bee'lin): woman of a sorrowful song
Prologue
In an age of magic, the Stygian Legion moved against the land of Athenia during the first reign of men. The Stygian Legion was an army of warlocks under the command of King Viiss. King Viiss wanted to enter the land so he could steal a large jewel and open a doorway to the Void, a world of demons. They would have conquered Athenia if not for the dragons aligning with tribal men. Their combined forces of sorcery and steel repelled the advance of the Stygian Legion, and King Viiss returned to his kingdom defeated and empty handed.
Now during the third reign of men and a time of peace, young humans were brought to the land of dragons within Athenia. The young humans participated in the first ceremonial acts of the Dragon Rite. Many went but few were chosen.
Chapter One
AabiLynn
The sun peeked over a grass covered hill and brought morning to Thatchman's farm. There was a bit of a chill in the air as spring forced winter out. Thatchman harnessed his horse and prepared to continue plowing his field to make it ready for seed. He still had two days of work before he could sow. Thatchman finished buckling the last strap on the harness when he noticed dust rising in the distance. A group of riders approached his land, and he had expected they would come. He went over to his hut that housed himself, his third wife, and his four children; three were by his first wife who suddenly disappeared and the other child was by his second wife who passed on about five years prior in childbirth. Thatchman grabbed his spear and returned to his horse.
His third wife, Hellen-Mary, attended to the pigs along with his youngest and only daughter, Cara-AabiLynn. By tradition, women of the Northern Grass Plains Tribe carried their mother's name as their second name to honor the one who bore them, so Mary was the mother of Hellen and so on.
“Girl, bring the bucket of slop the rest of the way for me,” Hellen ordered as she set the bucket down and leaned against the fence to rest her weary and very pregnant body.
Cara hobbled her nearly five-year-old body toward the only mother she ever knew. Cara had been born early which caused her left arm and leg to be stunted. Her leg, inches shorter than her other, caused her to limp, but since she was born this way she knew no different. Her arm bore the brunt of the deformity, it was about half the size of the other, and appeared to others to be of little use. Cara hurried over to Hellen, grabbed the bucket handle with her strong hand, and lifted it into her arms with the help of her other hand. For a child her size, the bucket of yesterday's unwanted food was huge. Its water slushed about the bucket as she walked the last ten feet to the gate. Part of the slop splashed her brown dress which was already stained by a week's wearing. Hellen waddled over, holding her back and opened the gate to the pigpen. Cara entered and walked across the cool muddy ground to the trough, then she lifted the bucket as high as she could, and poured most of the slop into the trough while some of it spilled onto her bare feet. She started back with the bucket and fell as her shorter leg sunk too far into the mud. Cara didn't cry, but she got back to her feet and made her way to Hellen. Dark mud covered her face and along with nearly every inch of her front. Cara thought it would be fun to play in the mud but knew Hellen would disapprove.
“Look at you!” Hellen complained as she took her apron and wiped her dirt stained face. Hellen questioned once she finished, “What am I going to do with you? You are nearly as useless as the old sow in there.”
She motioned to the large female pig in the pen, and Cara turned and stared at the creature that was three times her size and what her father called infertile. She didn't understand why they considered the pig useless or what the word really meant.
“I am sorry, Hellen,” Cara stated as she bowed her little head. “I am sorry I am useless.”
The riders neared the farm, and the horses' hooves thundered across the dirt road. Hellen noticed the riders and straightened her dress and hair somewhat as Cara hid behind her. The lead rider halted his horse, and the four others with him also did so in turn until they stopped behind their leader. The five sword armed men approached Thatchman on foot. All the riders were clad in leather from the band around their head, to the vest that covered their bare chests, and to their pants and boots. Thatchman kept his spear at his side with the blunt end resting on the ground.
“Bork,” Thatchman cautiously spoke as if he greeted a wolf he'd surprised in the woods who may be hungry or not.
Bork was the leader of the Northern Grass Plains Tribe which Thatchman and his family belonged. Most of the tribesmen raised horses, yaks, and/or sheep. Thatchman was one of a few farmers who tilled the land.
“Thatchman, you know why I am here?” Bork questioned.
He nodded and then he replied, “You have come to collect.”
Bork looked to Hellen and noticed the small child hiding behind her, then he turned back to Thatchman, and asked him, “Do you have the silver?”
“I do not,” he replied.
“That is a problem,” Bork stated. “I cannot give you any more time.” He scanned th
e area around the hut, pen, and field, but saw no one else there. Bork said, “I shall have to take from you something of equal value.” He looked to the distant hill, then to the roads winding behind the farm, and then he questioned, “What of your sons? Where are they? They usually work the farm with you,” Bork spoke and then he stated, “I could take one of them as a soldier for a year.”
“They are not here,” Thatchman said and then he added, “They are visiting my brother.”
“Convenient, I would say,” Bork muttered and then he stated, “Your crop is a season away.” He looked to the pen and then he questioned, “What of your pigs?”
Thatchman replied, “I have four young ones and one large one.”
The day before, Thatchman sent the piglets' mother with his sons as they headed for his brother's farm a couple of valleys away. He wouldn't give up a fertile sow, not for a gambling debt.
Bork walked over, looked over the feeding beasts, and then he said, thinking the sow was the piglets' mother, “I shall take the large one for payment.”
“One moment, my lord,” Hellen spoke as she walked over to her husband and whispered into his ear.
Thatchman's eyes lit up as if he had never even thought of such an ingenious idea and then he said, “Bork, why not take my daughter, Cara.”
“Your daughter?” Bork uttered as he turned and looked to the young girl. “Would you not prefer to give me your pig?”
Cara ran over to Hellen and hid behind her again.
Bork looked her over a second time before she hid herself and then he stated, “She is too young to give to one of my older sons or soldiers.”
“Take her as a slave,” Thatchman said. “She is a hard worker.”
“And deformed,” one of the other riders exclaimed.
“He is right,” Bork stated. “She shall be limited to what she can do and unsightly to give as a wife even to one of my slaves.”
“You could always make her a breeder when she comes of age,” Hellen spoke, then turned, and positioned herself so that Cara stood in front of her.
“Breeder?” Bork questioned and then he asked, “She is the fair AabiLynn's daughter, is she not?”
“Yes,” Thatchman replied. “She is my beloved's child.”
Hellen glared at her husband at the mention of the wife before her and then she squeezed Cara's shoulders, taking out her jealousy of a dead woman on the child.
Bork peered at the girl, not as she was, but as she would be. In the Northern Grass Plains Tribe's tradition, male owners slept with their breeders to create slaves with no inherent rights. Bork had wanted Thatchman's wife AabiLynn when she first appeared in their territory, but she married Thatchman instead. It created much strife between the two men till AabiLynn died.
“AabiLynn's child,” Bork muttered to himself and then he thought maybe Cara might turn out to be as beautiful as her mother. “Are you sure you want to give up AabiLynn's child? She is your daughter.”
Thatchman glanced at his wife and then he answered, “I am sure.”
Bork turned to one of his riders and told him, “Grab the child, and let us take her back to the plains.”
The rider nodded, then he went over, and scooped up the child as she attempted to flee from him, limping as fast as her little legs would allow her. She kicked and beat at him with her arms and legs, then she turned to her father and Hellen and screamed for them.
“Hellen! Hellen, help me!” Cara cried out. “Help me, Hellen! Hellen!” She managed to free herself of the rider, drop down to the ground, and ran to her shouting, “Hellen! Hellen!”
Cara fell down as she over stepped her stride, but quickly got back up and continued for the woman as she cried, “Hellen! Hellen!”
The woman turned from her and headed for the hut, allowing the child's pleads to fall on indifferent ears.
Cara cried all the more, “Hellen! Don't go, Hellen!” She fell again and this time Cara didn't get up as she shrieked, “Mamma! Mamma!”
Hellen paused in her tracks as the maternal words left the child's lips and rattled her very core. Never once had Cara called her mother. Hellen had never taught her that name, but insisted that Cara call her Hellen. It allowed her to place some distance between herself and the other woman's child. Thatchman's sons were old enough that they easily called her Hellen. Cara must have picked up the word from the near-by farmer's children as she watched them play. Hellen started to turn toward the child, but then she realized Thatchman had already given her to Bork. Whatever feelings might have been sparked by the child's utterance was now too late. There was nothing she could do about the debt or the payment; it had been completed. She place a hand to her belly. She might just be too emotional because of her own coming baby. Hellen continued walking to the hut as a tear streaked down her cheek. She wiped it away as she wiped the memory and the name of the child from her mind. Hellen placed a hand to her belly again. She would soon have a baby of her own to replace any emptiness caused by the forgotten one's departure.
When Hellen ignored her pleads, Cara turned to Thatchman and called out to him, “Daddy! Daddy!”
“Quiet, child!” Thatchman scolded her. “You are no longer mine.” He turned from her and walked away as he mumbled, “You were never mine.”
As both of her parents abandoned her to her fate, Cara lifted her tiny hands and wept into them. The rider easily picked up the child and carried her to his horse, then he, Bork, and the other riders headed back toward the plains. Cara cried herself asleep and slept the whole way back to Bork's abode.
Chapter Two
Journey To Firedrake
Seven years later...
Darkness covered the land like a blanket of nighttime fancy, and the smell of horses and leather permeated the air as Cara held on to the back of her adopted father's waist. She leaned the side of her head against Bork's strong back as they rode on his horse. He was warm and comforting against the cool air. Cara was still sleepy as they had rose hours before she normally did, so they could take this important trek. Sleep and dreams lingered with her as night and a young girl's fantasy remained a few moments more.
They left the plains with three other riders, heading for a great destination. All was grand in Cara's world. She had people who cared for her and a special place she belonged. She couldn't ask for anything more.
Bork steered his horse up a hill, and she held on tightly so not to fall off on the incline. The moon had long since gone, and the land waited for the sun to make its appearance. Cara glanced back at the three riders following them. One of the boys was Bork's son, Turk, the brother she never had. Thatchman's sons had mostly ignored her existence, but not Turk. He always noticed her, always knew where she was. Here with Bork and his family, she had found a place to belong, a place where she was needed and cared for.
Twilight broke at their backs as a red-orange light burned across the grasslands. A horse neighed, and a few flying birds greeted the morning, and all was grand in Cara's world. She had people who cared for her and a special place she belonged.
She squeezed Bork's waist as if giving him a hug, then turned her head so she could view the lands on their right side as they sped by. She overheard Bork speaking to the boys before they left his hut that the place they were going was important and they had to do well or was it, it was important that they do well at the place they were going?
A golden wren flew overhead, and Cara turned her head to follow the beautiful bird in its flight as it sparkled in sunlight. She thought when it came time for her to select a totem animal as those in Bork's family had, that she might pick the golden wren. It was free to go where it willed, but the females still had a family they returned to and cared for. The time of naming a totem animal was also the time she was given new clothes like the leather the riders wore. She was ready to burn her dingy tunic in a fire. She had seen other children use the fire to burn their old clothes when they came of age. At that time,
she could...
Cara caught a glimpse of Turk eyeing her, and she sleepily and bashfully hid her face in Bork's back. She smiled, knowing Turk was with them too, and it warmed her heart to know Turk was thinking about her. Cara adored him as an older brother.
She turned her head and looked again to the left side as they rode on. The plains were so much different than the lands around the farm she once called home. An incidental tear trickled down her cheek as day started to breakup the dreams night allowed, and she quickly wiped it away before anyone saw. She was to never speak unless spoken to, and she was never to cry. Those were the rules ingrained into her since arriving at Bork's hut, and Bork's wife was the one who fiercely taught her. The rising sun finished burning the sky, and the blueness of the day appeared over them. With night gone, so were dreams and a young girl's fantasy. Cara would have to face reality until the sun set again, and she was able to close her eyes.
All was grand in Cara's world, but it all vanished back into her mind. She had people who cared for her and a special place she belonged, but those ideas and sentiments were only in her head. She, after all, was only a slave, someone they would sometimes refer to as a breeder. Cara was more alone with Bork and his son than she had ever been with her father, her brothers, and Hellen. She had no rights as a human, no one she could emotionally depend on, and though she had a place she belonged, she wasn't loved.
The riders moved on as did the morning, and the harsh reality of her existence smacked her again like one of the slaps Bork's wife would frequently give her. This was the world Cara lived in, but not the one she wanted to linger in. The time she spent in her perfect world was far too short.
She was barefoot and wore a sackcloth tunic, and no totem animal decorated any part of her clothing. Cara was an object to own and order about and nothing more. She thought of Bork as her adopted father, but the only thing he adopted was a harsh tone and leering eyes that seemed to want something from her. Turk was still the brother she never had, for he wasn't either a brother to her or a friend but a constant tormentor. This was the reality of Cara's life, a reality she wished was a nightmare and the imaginary world she envisioned was the real one. There had to be more in this world than pain and hardship. Those would be bearable if she had joy and love, but without joy and love, pain and hardship were becoming more intolerable with each grim day.