Eresse - Sacred Fate -mpreg.pdf - 04-30-11-15 - jessab

Sacred Fate

Chronicles of Ylandre

Eresse

Sacred Fate

Chronicles of Ylandre

Eresse

Published 2009

ISBN 978-1-59578-595-4

Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509

reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise,

without the prior written permission of the author.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Liquid Silver Books

http://LSbooks.com

Email:

raven@LSbooks.com

Editor

Devin Govaere

Cover Artist

Anne Cain

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of

the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual

events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Blurb

In the dual-gendered realm of Ylandre, the great divide between the high-born True

Bloods and the lower-ranked Half Bloods is deemed impassable by most. Rohyr Essendri

dared to cross it when he took young Lassen Idana from his provincial town and made

him his paramour. Lassen perforce learned how to navigate the intricate byways of life at

court. What he never expected, however, was to fall in love with Rohyr, a most

inadvisable and impractical thing to do when one’s lover is sovereign ruler of the land.

But anything worth having is worth fighting for, both figuratively and, as Lassen

discovers, literally speaking. Contains hermaphrodism and explicit homoerotic sexual

encounters.

Note: Glossary of terms at end of book.

Prologue

Genesis

Ylandre, in the 1009th year of the Common Age

She left with a sigh so faint the physician almost did not hear it. Her chest barely

heaved with that final breath; her wrinkle-framed lips scarcely moved. The healer gently

pressed his fingers to the loose flesh at the sides of her throat then lifted her thin wrist. He

shook his head and looked up.

Veiron Essendri curtly nodded. He watched the family gather around her in

mourning.

It was no coincidence that the Ardan of mighty Ylandre had attended an old female

on her deathbed. She was just a commoner but she was also the last of her kind in the

land. And so he had come as soon as word reached him of her imminent passing. Veiron

looked at the kinsfolk she had left behind—brothers, cousins, nephews, great-nephews.

Not a one sprung from her for no one had taken her to mate. How could they when her

form had no longer found favor with the folk of her township or even her own blood

relations? She, whose ancestors were the firstborn of Aisen, had lived her life and

departed it a virtual stranger in the world of her birth.

Veiron signed to his counsellor to give her family a bag of coins to help defray the

cost of the funeral. They received it in timid silence, the eldest thanking the king in

hushed tones. Veiron acknowledged their gratitude then stepped out of the chamber.

When he returned to the capital he retreated to his study and took out his journal. He

needed to record the demise of the last female not only in his realm but also in the entire

continent. He was not the only sovereign to do so. Female-kind vanished in the continents

of Lydan and South Vihandra during his sire’s reign. Arvalde had only a scant handful

left and Khitaira maybe twice that number at most. But they were all in their twilight

years, these spouseless, childless, kindredless daughters of Aisen. They would leave the

world before Veiron’s eldest came to the throne.

It was a death knell for their race. Their passing would herald the extinction of

Aisen’s first offspring. And the irreversible ascendancy of her adopted heirs.

Unsure how to begin his account, Veiron glanced at the nearby shelf that housed the

journals of his predecessors for inspiration. He recalled an entry he had read when he was

just a lad. He rose and retrieved his grandsire’s journal. Sitting at his writing desk once

more, he quickly flipped through the crisp pages. He soon found what he was seeking and

began to read.

* * * *

They came in that time before written history in this world. A wondrous race of great

daring and spirit. It seemed their fate to suffer extinction. They defied fate instead and

won their battle to prevail against impossible odds.

The ancient scribes wrote that their world began to die. The climate slowly changed.

An unending winter set in, killing plants and beasts alike. They realized that sickness and

starvation would destroy them if the cold did not. And so the sharpest, most farseeing

minds amongst them gathered together and strove to discover a way for their people to

escape oblivion.

They were masters of the mind arts. They harnessed mental energy to heal or wound,

to save or slay. They could communicate without speaking though they never forsook

speech. Language was important to them for they were a highly cultured people who

revered their teachers as much as their soldiers.

Yet they were first and foremost a warrior race. Their history was marked by

conflict, the extension of borders routinely realized through the use of force and the

attainment of power and property more oft than not achieved by conquest. Fortunately,

by the time of the Great Frost, they had learned to eschew war for the most part and live

in harmonious coexistence.

It was this general peace, this conscious will to cooperate, that won them salvation.

They were learned enough to surmise that they were not alone in existence. At the behest

of their scholars and leaders, they joined their consciousness in a shared endeavor to

discover if there was another place to which they could relocate their race.

They saw it in that collective mind’s eye. A world similar to theirs that appeared

untouched by sentient life. It held the hope of survival and promised a future for their

kind. And so they came together on the last continent that could still sustain them. And

for the second time, and likely the last, they joined minds, each and every survivor of that

deadly winter. They harnessed the energy generated by that joining and channeled it into

the creation of a corridor by which they could pass through the void to their new home.

That was how they came to the world they named Aisen.

It was only upon their advent that they discovered the presence of a nascent

homegrown race alike to theirs in appearance and intelligence. They called themselves

the gelra.

The colonists had to make a choice. They were numerous, long-lived and strong. And

they were possessed of a power with which they could easily overcome and supplant the

gelra. But these ancient ones were wise. They comprehended that the indigenous

population possessed what was needed to thrive in this strange new world. They chose

assimilation over extermination, breeding with the native inhabitants over many

generations until the distinctions between them blurred and finally disappeared.

We are the progeny of that wondrous era. The children of the Inception. A people

hewn from the threat of extinction, the harshness of survival, the hardships of wholesale

migration, the relentless toil of civilization started anew and the inevitable adversities of

evolution. A mercurial race, as capable of bringing down empires as raising them,

undertaking both with equal fervor. We are the result of the journey upon which those

long ago gallant hearts embarked in a desperate bid to preserve their kind.

They were the Naere and we, the Deira of Aisen, are forever indebted to they who

were our forebears, sprung from a world that no longer exists except in blessed memory.

Joram Essendri

Rikara, Ylandre

Year 825 C.A.

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