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Vlasian
by Enly
Edited by Phildaburn and Annatira.
Prologue
The port city of Melinis lay still in the dead of night. Thin sheets of rain drizzled down and everything in the city dripped glistening silver droplets. Smoke from a forest fire in Sedicolis smothered the city. As the clouds shifted, the moon Kaifhi came out and hung blood red over the city. The other smaller moon, Macuma, hung not as full near its partner. As the red light fell over the city, the drops of silvery rain were turned to what resembled drops of blood. The few plants that tried to grow in the choked dust welcomed the rare bit of water. Magic supported them when water was scarce, but it was not always enough. Nearly all the lights in the city were out. People viewed the Kaifhial eclipse and the moon’s red tinge as an omen of bloodshed and violence. Curtains were drawn and crying babies were hushed. The murky waters of the port slapped quietly at the docks as the only person who was outside in the city walked across the boardwalk.
He was a quiet figure who seemed perfectly at home in the dark night. Slowly he walked along; his damp cloak clung to him as he walked toward the nearest row of houses. He stood outside quietly for a moment then climbed the steps and knocked on the door. The lights inside the house were dark and there was no one else around outside. A small old woman cracked open the door and looked out. She saw no one on the doorstep. Puzzled, she opened the door wider. About to give up and go back to bed, she noticed the edge of a black cloak flutter around the corner at the end of the street.
She hesitated for a moment and looked back into her house. Only the sounds of breathing came from her daughter’s bedroom. Curious, the woman wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and hustled down the street. There was no sign of anyone there.
Worried now, she turned around quickly in the darkness. There wasn’t a soul on the street. She took a step back toward her house when she heard a muffled groan. The sound came from one of the houses. The woman’s instincts as a healer kicked in and she peered into the window of the house she thought the noise had come from. A lamp flickered in the back room and she could just make out a figure lying in a bed. The woman knocked on the door. No response came so she cautiously opened the door and stepped into the house. A young woman lay on the bed in the back room, her stomach swollen with pregnancy.
“Dear me, are you ok child?” the woman asked. The younger woman blinked and looked at the older.
“Help me,” she gasped. “I think my child is coming.”
“Well it most certainly is.” The old woman then bustled about the house doing everything she could to help the young woman.
Outside, the quiet darkly-clothed figure watched. Soon he heard the cry of a newly born child and smiled wickedly.
“Name him Vlasian,” the mother gasped, “after his father.”
“Calm yourself dear, you will be perfectly fine and we can name the child in due time,” the old healer stated.
The figure outside watched stoically as the young woman took one last grueling breath and collapsed onto her bed. The old woman stared shocked as she clutched the newly born babe to her chest.
“May the blood red moon curse your birth,” the figure whispered. “I will seek you again, Vlasian, when I am ready.”
The dark figure then vanished from the cold wet streets and the old woman was left alone with the babe. Melinis did not stir until hours later when the first rays of the sun broke through the smokey rain. The city would soon learn of what had happened in the night, of the death in the young woman’s house, and of the birth, which the city would come to speak of in whispers.
From that year onward and every year since, on the third day of Mortia, the shutters were closed, the curtains were pulled, and the lamps put out. For on the third day of Mortia, the god of vice had walked the streets of Melinis.
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