Chapter 1
It took a conscious effort of will for Brak to take the final step across the threshold of Sanctuary.
The gates stood wide open, tall and impossibly white in the thin, chill mountain air. Sanctuary’s tall spires reached elegantly for the scudding clouds, shadowing the Gateway and offering him one last moment of anonymity.
He had turned his back on this place more than two decades ago and, despite the loneliness, the guilt, and the hunger for his own kind, he still found it harder than he thought possible to return.
He was not unexpected. That would have been too much to hope for. As he trekked through the mountains he had clung to the idle hope that the demons would not betray his approach. It was the reason he had come on foot – this journey of months could have been accomplished in hours had he asked the demons for help.
As he contemplated that final, irrevocable step, a figure appeared on the other side of the Gateway. Tall, white-robed and smiling, Jerandenan had been the Gatekeeper for as long as Brak could remember – and that was almost a millennium. The Harshini’s totally black eyes were moist, and his whole being radiated the warmth of his welcome.
The Gatekeeper opened his arms wide. “Welcome home, Brakandaran.”
Still Brak hesitated. “You remember me then?”
Jerandenan laughed softly. “I remember every soul who has entered my Gate, as well you know. And you, more than most, I would not forget. Come, Brakandaran. Your family awaits you. The demons miss you, and...” The Gatekeeper’s voice trailed off with a shrug, and he smiled that infuriating, calm smile that was already beginning to annoy Brak. And he had not even crossed Sanctuary’s threshold yet.
“And Korandellan wants to see me?” Brak guessed.
Jerandenan nodded. “Did you expect anything less from your King?”
Before Brak could answer, several grey missiles launched at him through the tingling barrier of the Gateway. The demons jumped on him gleefully, chattering to each other incomprehensibly, so delighted by his return that they almost knocked him off his feet. He recognised a few of the creatures as he tried to shake free of them, but there were youngsters in the group he did not know. They knew him, though. His blood called to them more clearly than any words were capable of.
Jerandenan smiled indulgently as the demons pushed and pulled Brak until he was through the Gateway, ignoring both his protests and his greetings, which he seemed to be handing out in equal measure.
“You can deny yourself, Brak, but you cannot deny the brethren. They are as glad to see you as we all are.”
Brak frowned, and peeled a little demon from around his neck who was hugging him so tightly he could barely breathe. No sooner had he removed one, than another tried to take its place. He pushed it away sternly.
“Begone!”
The demons fell back at his sharp tone, looking mightily offended. He immediately felt guilty for being so abrupt, a fact which the demons were probably counting on. At the first sign of his resolve wavering they were on him again, although this time they gave him room to breathe. Brak turned to Jerandenan helplessly.
“And you wonder why I haven’t been back in more than twenty years.”
“You are as hungry for the demons as they are for you, Brakandaran,” the Gatekeeper said with an indulgent smile. “Don’t deny them, or us, the joy of your return.”
By the time Brak had disentangled himself from the demons a second time, other white robed figures had appeared, attracted to the Gateway by the unusual commotion. The Harshini rarely, if ever, left Sanctuary these days – not since the Sisterhood had come to power two centuries ago – and few had entered the magical Gateway in that time. The Keep was outside of normal time and space, in a dimension uniquely its own. No one but a Harshini, or those born within the walls of Sanctuary, could find it when it was warded.
The curious arrived first, to see what all the fuss was about, wandering towards the Gateway with a leisurely stride. Behind those came others, some at a run. These Harshini were te Carn,
He almost fled at that point. Seeing the faces of his family made him shrivel up a little inside. They had done nothing but try to make him feel as if he belonged here; and he had repaid their kindness with blood... this shame, this unbearable remorse, was the reason he had never come home.
“Brakandaran!”
A fair-haired woman pushed through the crowd and ran to him, twisting the knife of his guilt even harder into his soul.
“Samaranan.”
She stopped a few paces from him and examined him with a critical eye.
“You’re too thin.”
Brak was expecting almost anything but that. Trust Samaranan to say the one thing guaranteed to ease his tension. He smiled at her blunt criticism.
“I’ve been living on nothing but...” he stopped himself before he could upset the Harshini with his carnivorous diet. “I’ve been living off the land. It’s a long walk.”
“It was also an unnecessary one,” she scolded. “The demons would have brought you home. All you had to do was ask.”
“I like walking.”
“Actually, I think you like suffering. But you got here. Finally. Welcome home, brother.” She hugged him tightly, pushing demons out of the way to reach him. He had almost forgotten how forgiving the Harshini were – how incapable of anger or resentment. His elder half-sister did not seem to care that he had not contacted her for two decades. Nor did she seem to hold against him the crime that had driven him from this place. “Come, you must pay your respects to Korandellan. He knew you would come.”
Brak nodded, but did not bother to add that the King had left him little choice in the matter. Samaranan took his hand and led him forward, the demons skipping in his wake. The Harshini parted for them, some simply smiling their welcome, others nodding to him with genuine pleasure at his return. Some even reached out to touch his travel-stained clothes, to assure themselves that he was real. Brak tried to return the warmth of their welcome, but his guilt and his human blood, as always, made him feel like an outsider.
Sanctuary was like no other place on this world, and at first glance, seemed unchanged since Brak had last walked these halls. The Harshini settlement sat within a valley; the Keep tunnelled into the hills, its broad, open archways looking down to the valley floor. The air was sweet and moist from the constant mist created by the rainbow-tinted cascade that supplied the settlement with water and tumbled down toward the pool on the western edge of the valley. Although autumn was beginning to turn the mountains red, here in Sanctuary the temperature never varied a great deal. The God of Storms was solicitous of Harshini comfort.
The long, tiled walkways echoed his booted footsteps as Samaranan led Brak toward Korandellan’s apartments. Everywhere they went people turned and waved to him, delighted to see him. It was as though he brought them hope rather than pain, and the reaction puzzled him a little. It was true that the Harshini were incapable of anger or violence, but even that could not explain their obvious joy. Many of them would have been glad to see the back of him, he thought. Then another thought occurred to him as he realised what else seemed strange.
“Where are the children?”
“There are none, Brak.”
“Why?”
Samaranan slowed her pace and glanced at him. “It’s the wards on Sanctuary. They remove us from the real world. We do not age, but neither do we conceive.”
“But you don’t stay out of time constantly. Korandellan used to bring Sanctuary back every spring to allow time to catch up.” As far as Brak remembered, the settlement had reappeared every spring for the past two centuries. Such a return was vital for their survival.
“We’ve been warded now for nearly twenty years, brother,” she told him. “After you left, after the demon
