Heya Guys!

A while back I left the fanfic list (as most of you know) for several reasons, the biggest being that I wanted to persue writing in hopes of one day being published.  So, I started writing, and what I came up with was a series of 6 novels (I'm only "done" with the first though).  I have worked this one over enough so that I am basically comfortable with sending it on out.  Now, this is a fanfic list... but I was kinda hoping that, should the fantastic!  :-)  moderators decide that I shouldn't post original work, that someone might be kind enough (or a few someones) to read it.  Pretty please.  I need some more editing.  My writing professor said that one's writing is always a work in progress until it is published.  Going into my fifth revision of this story, I would highly agree with her.  So, here is the first part.... loosely based on a laby fanfic I wrote a while back... but everyone is changed.  These characters are all mine, as is the story, the land, everything within.  So, here it is.

Molly

Once upon a time.... there was magic in our world, with mortals. The days of sorcerers, wizards, spells, incantations, dragons and muses were long before our time. As the ages processed, fewer and fewer could recall the era of magic and fantasy, and soon the only recollections of such memories came merely from outdated stories.

Magic fled the world of non-believers, and took residence in a place not far away. This land seemed the shadow of ours, as if it overlapped the mortal realm in many areas. In these points where the two worlds nearly touched, people were affected. It was here that the veil of reality drew thin, almost imperceptable, and it was in these small and vague spaces were dreamers flourished, and magic was loved once more.

The land where the hope for tomorrow found solace, became known as Astaria. It was here that magic took its final residence, and here would be its death should all forget, as had occured in our world many years prior.

All talents sprouted from Astaria. The poet’s prose came from muses who dwelled in the rich weather. The pastel shades of paint on the painter’s canvas was born from ideas sparked as dreams cascaded out with magical influence. Inspiration became bountiful. Soon Astaria was the sole provider of all the essence of humanity, for in its soil dwelt magic.

It was also here that fantastic creatures seeked refuge from a world that had forgotten them. The dragons, who had been thought a myth by doubters, dwelled in the far Northern mountains. Unicorns, who were the most ancient of beasts, grew tired of their misconception as white mares and stallions. They too came to live in this land.

Soon, as fantasy and magic converged, it slowly drew into one central point. A great kingdom came forth in the heart of Astaria and on the edge of reality. It was filled with spells and fantasy, Kings and Queens of great virtue, and good townspeople. The people called it simply Nevermore. No other Kingdom dared compete with Nevermore, for it had been chosen by magickum.

Magickum had been the title given to the essence of Astaria. That which had first brought the spark of life to the world, had caught the daylight into a sun, and etched forth a moon from silver crystal spheres. Magickum was the beginning and the end, and that which was most protected in all of Astaria. For, should the essence be driven away, two worlds woud suffer in grayed twilight of dissillusionment.

Such a catastrophe was predecicted once by the oracle between the highest peak in the northern range. The mount had been cleanly cleaved in half, leaving a gulch of some several hundred feet in width. Positioned in the middle was the grand monument, that had been born when Magic itself inherited the world. However, through the years the prophese was slowly forgotten, and soon only the eldest of mystics could remember and wait for the time when the end would come round at last.

Once, and Nevermore

"Chronicles of Magick"

"The air hung thick with magick

aurora calls from lands around

Surmounting hills of molten gold

As sunless rays bathe underground..."

"A Prince of the Dawn"

"A sea of stars and denim skies

I’ll chase the moon throughout your eyes

And sit to watch the heavens rise

Waiting for the dawn."

Chapter One

The woman was full with child, her swollen stomach evident beneath the white gown she wore. She was awash in twilight starshine, that bathed her manor as if it were displaced from reality. She sat silently, looking into the blazing flames within her fireplace, as they consumed a single log.

Her face was ageless, and yet written beneath that smooth and perfect flesh was some deep and unbearable pain that ate at her immortality. She held a silver platter on her diminished lap, and upon it sat five golden apples. Temptation. Emblems of the sin she had comitted. Her ever-active mind had created the tangible symbols as she wandered in thought.

Outside clouds rolled across the deeply black night. Somehow it seemed fitting that Astaria’s eternal perfection should be disturbed that night when the spawn of evil moved within her. Since the empress herself had come into being she had never seen foul weather. The clouds came on, and in some distant valley she heard a rumble of thunder. Her manor trembled.

"Astaria, I am sorry for what I have done to you," the Empress cried out.

The sudden and deafening silence encompased her manor, and even doused the crackling fire into a dull echo of past mistakes. She shivered, as her palace had done only moments earlier, and then waited.. Something was coming, and Astaria knew even before she.

The muscles along her stomach clenched, and her insides contracted with a searing pain. The silver plate the Empress held clattered to the ground, and a single shimmering apple rolled into the fire. The flames ate hungrily, and erupted into strange hues of purples and blues. Within the array of sparks it seemed, almost, as if a monstrous face leered at her suffering. Its eyes seared red through the apparition.

"Leave me!" she screamed as she slipped deeper into her chair.

The face opened its sneering mouth wide, showing fangs that sparked like fireworks. Its demonic tongue wrapped around its jaws, and its pupils drilled ember-fury through those frantic flames. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared the haunt left her, and the fire was left as smoldering embers.

The Empress gripped the chair’s velveteen and plush material with fingers that shivered beneath the pressure and held her stomach with her other forearm. The presence of warm water, sticky along her leg and spreading across her dress brought reality back with a crisp snap that resembled a jolt of electricity. Astaria commanded of her to leave her private chambers, to right her wrong.

She didn’t cry as she walked into the hallway, her pale body radiating a dull blue light that showed her the way. The Empress swayed, slamming her hip sharply against the banister which she then gripped with starkly white fingers. Her footsteps echoed down the stairwell, and her bare feet slipped rhythmically towards the first floor.

Then she was in her throne room, and upon a raised platform sat her silver throne. Lurching towards it, she finally rested herself against the shimmering slice of moonshine and looked at that which she had come for.

"The babe is mine as well," her mind whispered, motherly instinct infecting her forced intentions.

Laying there upon the arm was a dagger. It had a white handle, polished and new. It had not shed blood since it had been crafted. The blade was whetted recently, hungry for the tast of death upon its glittering metal body. She touched it, her brow furrowed and then her vision blurred as another searing pain tore at her clenching midsection.

The woman screamed, outside lightning flashed and the rain came forth as a curtain of endless gray. She writhed, and collapsed to her knees as another bout of overwhelming pain bit at her body which had once been a sanctuary to perfection. No more, the cursed child now fought his way to be free.

The dagger clattered beside her, and the Empress reached out to grab its pearly handle in the pitch of night.

The land shivered as she laid on her back, upon the smooth wooden floor. A puddle of bloody fluid spread out from between her quivering legs. Thunder shook the panes of colored glass in her windows, and a single piece fell, shattering upon the hard ground.

The woman ground her teeth, her face ashen, and her eyes squinted tightly shut as the pain rolled across her like mounting agony. It was unbearable, horrible, and the final affirmation of her damnation. And when it felt as if it would never cease, and that she would die there on the ground beside her lovley throne, she heard a single meek cry from the baby.

He laid there, on the ground, and as she looked at him she loved him. Despite her better senses, the Empress adored her son and took him into her arms. The knife she had held throughout the birth slipped back to the wooden floor, and laid there. Even as the child squirmed up against her warmth she knew that her final decision had been made...

The boy would not die at her hands.

Another explosion of thunder, and she knew that Astaria was angry with her decision. This child was a spawn of a devil, one so evil that all it touched was immediately blighted. A demon more deadly than any foe. And this was his heir...her heir.

She cradled her new babe against her bossom, and her endless magik washed him with a gentleness she knew immediately. She stroked his damp head, adoring the golden hair that laid plastered upon his smooth flesh. He opened his swollen eyes just enough for the Empress to see that he bore the truest mark of magick... two distinctly different colored irises. One was a brilliant blue, while the other tawny in shade. She would be unanble to hide such a striking feature.

He was beautiful, more so than any mortal infant could be. Within him the blood of magick and immortals ran wild, and graced his tiny body with power the woman could only hope he would know only when completely neccessary. She would seperate him as far as possible from his birthright.

Without another moments thought she wrapped him in a sapphire blanket, held him beneath her cloak and looked towards her window which had begun to fall inwards. Upon these colored windows were the thirteen kingdoms of Astaria, and that which had been damaged was none other than Nevermore.

"You will go to Nevermore, then, my child," she whispered as she touched his small face with her pale hand.

A veil of smoke drifted over her slender form, and she was gone from her manor, her home. With her presence absent the window shuddered once in its frame, and Nevermore collapsed, a million pieces of beautiful carnival glass. Astaria and Magickum waited.

The Emperess came again in the middle of a dark village. Only a few small homes boasted lanterns, illuminating their insides with golden and warm light. After all, it was late in the night and most farming families wakened early and would not burn the midnight oil like this. The woman looked, seeking the perfect home for her baby.

At long last she saw a wealthy manor, in the very center of town, just beside grand stables, wondrous green fields, and rich gardens, which bore healthy crops. Inside she knew a young couple lived, and they were barren. Though they longed for children, there would never be any.

With a great sigh and a gnawing pain at her heart, the lovely immortal placed the child just before the door. She shielded his head from the rain, which had just begun to slow in its intensity. Then, she backed away, as the baby erupted into screams. His tiny hands reached out for her through the silvery rain.

"Be still my baby fair... Be well, Devin," she whispered, and as she spoke his lovely name a piece of parchment appeared pinned to the sapphire blanket wrapped around the child. Upon this paper was only a single word, his name, and it was crafted in a fine golden penmanship.

She faded into the darkness of the stormy night as the woman of the household came to the door. She held a shawl about her shoulders, and shuddered as a cool breeze bit at her rosy face. Then she looked down, the cries from the swaddled babe like music in the midst of chaos.

"Oh, blessed this day!" she cried out and gathered the young child up into her arms, rushing back within her home to show her husband the heir that had been left for them by some kind soul.

They rejoiced that night, and come morning, Devin was an infant noble of Garamond.

* * * * *

Devin sat patiently in a well-polished desk, within one of the many rooms of his manor. His golden hair was tied back, and his handsome face was all the more accented, and his mismatched eyes were the highlight of his features. From the lovely infant he had been, Devin had become a strikingly beautiful adolescent. He was more stunning than any other young man in his village of Garamond, and most of Nevermore.

It was painfully obvious that his blood was intermingled with immortal lines, though nothing of the sort was every mentioned. None of his mysteriousness prevented the typical duties of his nobility, particularly his studies.

He watched his professor scrawling a tidbit of a note within an old leather-bond journal. Then, snapping the volume closed with a brisk click and a puff of stale dust, the old man looked up, and tugged at his grayed beard. Devin had decided that that movement was a nervous habit.

"Have you completed your reading? We’ll have a lesson on ancient Astarian history come next week," the man warned, as he took a large switch in hand, rapping it against his other palm.

Devin shuddered beneath the careful glare of his teacher, squirming in the chair and feeling very alone. The staunch neatness was like a cell, and his lessons torture. Devin nodded slowly, and sat as straight as he could. He waited, sweating through the usual scrutinizing.

"Very well. Study your history and English, Master Devin, you can expect testing shortly."

With that Devin’s professor walked back to his tidy desk and gathered his journals and bound stacks of paper together, placing it into his leather satchel. His long black attire was typical of the clergy, making the old man all that more frightening. Should Devin fail, it was as if his very soul would be damned.

Slowly and with adult deliberation prematurely forced upon him, he fastened a leather loop around his books. He knew very well that the professor was watching every move, writing in that little journal about Devin’s progress... about his suitability for adulthood and the future.

"Good-day, Sir," Devin stated calmly as he walked out of the constricted room and back into the open atmosphere of the rest of his home.

The cobbled ground beneath him echoed against his thick leather heels. He had worn his riding boots to study, ready to go off for his pleasure. Devin merely placed his books upon his father’s high-backed, oak chair and then raced from the house and out into the dirt road.

"Well, well, my boy!" Devin paused immediately at the sound of his father’s voice.

"Father," Devin muttered and turned, smiling briefly.

The older man came over and placed a large hand upon his son’s shoulder, guiding Devin towards the stables. Of course, Devin was shocked to be led in such a direction, since this had been his intention to begin with. Old Gursby would already have Devin’s mount, an older roan gelding, saddled for his afternoon ride.

"My son, you have come of age... an age in which you future is at your heels. You are already thirteen years, prime time to be seeking a wife."

The intent of Devin’s father’s companionship was suddenly dropped before Devin like the shattering of a perfect fantasy.

"I wish not to marry," Devin retaliated.

His father laughed a hearty laugh and clapped Devin’s back nearly hard enough to make the dear boy fall solidly on his face. They continued, straight to the stables and Gursby was there waiting with a warm smile on his deeply wrinkled face. Somehow he was not surprised to see both the boy and his father there to meet him.

"Lets not discuss it now then, my boy. Here! A present. As you become an adult you deserve an adult steed!"

Devin was perplexed as he rounded the corner and suddenly laid eyes upon a snowy gray stallion. The horse snorted, pawing the loosely packed dirt in the stable aisle. Gursby calmed him with a thin noise from between his dry lips and came up behind father and son.

"That there is a treasure. Arab, descent of the royal line, most certainly," Gursby muttered as he tipped some tobacco into an ancient pipe which he always held in the crook of his mouth.

Devin approached his new horse with a single extended hand, palm up. The stallion snorted and shied, backing until his reins tightened around the brass loop to which they had been fastened. He went back on his hind, nearly tripping as he tried to escape Devin’s small form.

From behind the boy, Gursby dipped his hand into his leather apron. He found two little blocks of sugar and bounced them about in his large, and work-worn hand. Then, whistling through his lips again, he tapped Devin to get the boy’s attention. At once Devin turned.

"Here young master, he’ll like the sweets," Gursby explained as he dropped a few pieces of hard sugar into Devin’s awaiting hand. The head of the stable always carried treats to calm the animals when they were nervous.

"What is his name?" Devin asked as he clutched the solid cubes tightly and once more turned towards the shy animal.

Devin’s father stood calmly by and then shrugged as a brief answer. The stallion was young yet, barely broken to ride. It was to be Devin’s horse, and as his horse the boy was to name him. Only then could Devin really feel that this was his, his mount, and they could begin to form a balance of trust.

"Very well," Devin began as he held out the sugar and waited for the animal to come to him, "I’ll name him Rycluse... the first great king of Nevermore."

Slowly the horse came forward, bowing his head and snorting in the sweet aroma that surrounded the clumps of sugar, which were sticky and crisp in Devin’s hand. Devin waited, his breath held and his jaw tightened, as Rycluse stepped forward and pressed his velveteen lips against his owner’s palm to take both sugar cubes gently into his mouth.

"Good boy," Devin whispered and patted the rippling muscles beneath Rycluse’s smooth coat and thick skin.

"You’ll enjoy riding the wild wind on that horse, that you will," Gursby remarked and then turned as a ferocious squeal erupted from one of the further stalls. One of the mares had gone into heat, and had become very vocal about it. "You, off with you now!" The two could hear Gursby as he left.

"I’ll leave you as well," Devin’s father began and started to head back to their home. "We will discuss our earlier conversation later today, Devin. Don’t feel that you have been excused from your adult responsibilities just because of a new horse."

Devin nodded, and watched his father leave through the bright square of sunshine that broke through the open barn doors. Perhaps there would be talk of the future later, but for then Devin was pleased to stroke Rycluse’s mane as he led the jittering stallion outside for the first time.

Next he would be off to Quintell to boast his new present before his best friend, Frederick.