Dawn: Prologue Part 1

Prologue 

 

     In a lush forest far away, a lone she-cat lifted her head solemnly to the plumage of night’s embracing wings, gazing at the dark blue sky littered with starry specks of light, the golden dust dappling the feathers of night. Her blue eyes clouded with sorrow. Swathed in the shadows of shattered grief. Hope had lost its wings—lost its ability to take flight.

     Silently, pleading yet retaining a dignified mien, she murmured a desperate prayer to the Cat Goddess, the One who watches over all felines beneath the Ever Sky, the place where rays of brilliant sunlight welcome the spirits of loved ones.

     The silver queen then lowered her gaze, staring out with dismay lighting in her eyes as the remains of a once-great kingdom—the city of Silvia—crumbled into ruin. Blazing fires swept across the land, illuminating the city with their incandescent glow. Beginning as a tiny flame and eventually becoming full-fledged beasts, they raged and ravaged everything in their paths, stopping at nothing to achieve their ambition of consuming the entire city—and the entire world—in roaring red flame. The massive walls that had once protected the city had been breached in many places, cats swarming over it until it had transformed into a furry, seething mass of pelts.

     From her high vantage point, the queen could not distinguish the glorious triumphant from the desperate defeated. Which side had the advantage? Was it hers—or the enemy’s? But as the wind changed its course, blasting the she-cat with ice-cold air and flattening her sleek coat, it brought with it the strangled cries and distraught wails of her cats—and the shouts of near-victory from the opponent.

     Although the walls had been penetrated, the invaders were met with a determined resistance. A yowl of encouragement rang in the night, and the silver queen strained to make out the outlines of her courageous warriors. For a moment, she felt pride and hope—it had finally found its wings—sweep through her, filling her from the tip of her tail to her nose. A wave of battle-ready cats crashed into the front left division of invaders, cutting them off from the rest of the army. An order snapped out in the wild wind. Her cats swiftly formed a circle around the enemy, lashing out at the ranks of invaders, but their formation was ragged, with more and more holes as cats fell. It had only been a final desperate attempt to grasp at the victory that the enemy mockingly dangled in front of their faces— just out of reach—and soon they fell back in defense as a surge of invaders overcame them.

     There were simply too many invaders. Rows upon rows of cats incessantly pushed at the little resistance that remained, forcing them back through the ruins of the walls and into the city, and still, fresh reinforcements awaited pleas for assistance at the far end of what had become a killing ground. Any cat that rose to fight against their enemy, the Ru Evas, would be crushed—just as that had been the fate of the queen’s army. Days before—although it seemed as if it had been only yesterday, that no time had passed at all—the queen had led her cats to battle at the Red Sands, only to be defeated and forced back. Perhaps I was too supercilious and it has led to the defeat of my kingdom, the Blu Galaxias, the she-cat thought regretfully. As the thought struck her, she recalled her mother telling her about the Legend of the Red Sands, and she was swept into the embrace of her memories…

     “Let go of my tail,” her mother slowly drew her fluffy tail away from her daughter.

     “But I don’t want you to go.” she whined, then a little kit.

     “Shhhhh. It’s not like I’m going away forever.” She flicked her tail lovingly over her daughter’s nose, keeping her doubts to herself. “I’ll tell you a story before I go, and you will let me go. Is it a deal?” she added.

     “Of course! I love stories.” The silver kitten readily agreed, her eyes bright in anticipation.

     “The Red Sands is a desert with towering dunes of red and scalding winds that scar and burn. History has been told and untold upon the accursed land, and it is said that it is there that the great Empire of Egypt, of the first cats, fell. There was a battle at the Red Sands between the cats of Egypt and the wolves of the Pack. The wolves have always been the arch-enemies of the cats. Their rivalry can date back to the beginning of time, when the Cat Goddess created the universe. However, the cats and wolves had lived in peace next to one another, warily, but not in constant battle until that fateful day. A time came when a wolf of the Pack killed a cat in the kingdom of the Egyptian cats.” She meowed, eyes fixed on the distance.

     “But it was only one cat. Why did they have to go to war against one another?” the light gray kitten interrupted, her innocent eyes wide with confusion.

     “Quiet. Let me finish the story. Well, it was not just any cat. It was Princess Isis, King Ra’s favorite daughter. Her death shook the very foundations of the already fragile peace between the cats of Egypt and the wolves of the Pack, and the effect was detrimental, causing a series of events to unfold and once more sparking the age-old hatred. King Ra was said to have a golden mane of fur around his neck, which shook in anger as he roared at the devastating news. He met the wolves of the Pack in battle at the Red Sands, determined to avenge his beloved daughter’s death. Both sides suffered from terrible losses in the first couple hours, but arrogance kept them from retreating for a day's rest. The struggle carried on until both were almost extirpated, staining the sand blood-red. The little survivors that there were scattered, most becoming rogues. Now the once-great empire of cats exists only in legends and tales, their marvelous glory wiped away by the winds of the Red Sands.” Her mother continued, ending the story.

     “That’s sad, though.” she replied, frowning.

     “Yes, but there is a lesson to be learned from this story: Always take the chance to rest when needed. Do not let arrogance and pride cloud your decisions.” Her mother blinked warmly at her kitten and turned, leaving.    

     Shivering, the queen thought, perhaps the place is cursed. They did have to retreat. After the battle, the remains of her army had fallen back to defend the city and its inhabitants. Rage burned like fire in the pit of her stomach, blazing to vivacious life within her and lighting the drive for vengeance as she recalled the way her rival had cheated, violating the very agreement he had sworn his life and blood so easily upon. Once more, the heartrending death of King Lionroar, her mate, flashed before her eyes, a scene that would forever remain as vivid and clear and heart-wrenching as the very day it had taken place, renewing the anguish and grief of the moment as she relived it:

     Sand the hue of blood had stretched out on all sides, providing the accursed place with its name, the scalding breeze slicing through the thin air. Pillars of red-streaked stone rose into the sky; the lone, worn columns pierced the faded sky, as the sun shone on intensely, intent on reducing the land to a barren, desiccated void of baked sand and stone. Rolling into the distance, red dunes had towered around them, an endless sea of sand that entombed the first cats, and amid the immense hills, two cats had engaged in combat, one with fur the hue of gold—King Lionroar—and the other—King Mawt—the dark brown of shadows flitting across forest floors, circling each other warily.

     A shadowed amber gaze locked with a gaze the hue of golden leaves in autumn. As they met, two entirely different worlds clashed: one filled with rays of warm sunshine tingeing treetops yellow-orange, everything noble as a lion and gentle as a dove, and the other swathed in a cloak of black, and the unforgiving landscape shrouded in an impenetrable fog, with its inhabitants clandestinely prowling in the darkness and waiting for the opportune moment to pounce—calculating, cold, and merciless. Then, the moment of contact passed, slipping away.

     The silver queen had been watching, fear lurking in the depths of her dark blue gaze, the shadow of apprehension—the black wings of night—threatening to engulf the last sliver of hope—the lone shaft of sunlight—that remained. Blotting out every other sound, her heart thundered deafeningly against her chest, and the individual beats seemed to slur together into an ever-lasting note of fear. Anxiety gripped her, failing to loosen its grasp, as the battle continued.

     Swift as lightning, King Lionroar had flown forward with a roar worthy of a lion, the thunder of sound an answer to the call of the light, and in a flash of reflected sunlight and an echo of a deafening explosion of pure, raw noise, it had been all over. A blade of stone rested against the throat of King Mawt, whose amber eyes blazed with endless hatred and fury, twin flames threatening to erupt into roaring fire, into life. With a snarl of rage that reached for the sun, the dark brown king admitted defeat, intense burning gaze trained on his golden-furred rival as if willing him to catch aflame, to be consumed in a whirlwind of brilliant ruby fire.

     Sheathing his sword, King Lionroar had looked in the eye, “King Mawt, my closest friend and my worst enemy, the cat I have known since a kitten, proud and dignified and, yes, ambitious, but only for the good of his kingdom, I wish you well. I bid you to remember the Remember—and let go, old friend.”

     As King Lionroar turned, the warm rays of the dying sun had bathed him in a brilliant radiance, enveloping him in a blanket of shining light and washing his coat red-orange. It would be the final time the silver queen would ever him alive, regal and brave and noble, his graceful figure outlined in the hue of the setting sun. A crown of dazzling light flashing into existence atop his head. His clear gaze the hue of the rising sun and his fur flowing around him in a lion’s mane.

     With an abrupt lunge, King Mawt hurled himself at his adversary, his claws viciously lashing out in a series of fluid movements. For a single moment, he had seemed to be suspended in midair, ice-cold amber gaze darkening as the shadows lengthened and night began to show its shades in the tawny depths. Then, with an explosion of sound that resonated across the pillars of stone, the dark brown cat landed. His fangs ripping into golden fur, tearing deeper and deeper—and deeper. Time slowed as a single piercing wail sliced through the dying light, filled with pain and agony. A silver shape desperately rushed toward King Lionroar, flinging itself forward, but every paw seemed to be dragged through murky water, every step a sluggish movement.

     Blood spurted into the air, spilling out of a gaping wound and gushing out onto the sand, a relentless tide of endless red.

     A dark figure reared, powerful jaws gripping a limp golden body, black against the brilliant red of the bleeding sky.

     The silver queen opened her mouth in a soundless wail, blue eyes reflecting the dying sun, worlds of terror and love.

     A delicate crack permeated the still air.

     King Lionroar fell.

     The brilliant amber light in his eyes faded. His life bled out onto the crimson sands as the last rays of sunlight died away, night descending upon the world.

    That single crack forever echoing…echoing…echoing….

     As the memory drenched in sorrow and anguish faded into reality, the blood-streaked sky of the Red Sands transforming into a sheet of midnight the hue of a crow’s plumage and the soft sand hardening to stone beneath her paws, the silver queen was plunged into a seemingly bottomless abyss of failure and defeat, into an endless fall. Her paws felt leaden and heavy as she shifted them. She had failed her ancestors and her cats—her people. She had failed King Lionroar—fallen short of his expectations and dreams, unable to fill his paw steps. Every one of them had relied on her, laid their trust upon her shoulders, entrusted her with the kingdom, and she had let them down. Sighing, the she-cat admitted defeat, which crashed over her in a stifling blanket. You are Queen Icewinter and now the leader of the Blu Galaxias. You do not admit defeat so easily! A sharp voice reprimanded her.

     Shock flashed through Queen Icewinter as she recognized the voice. It was the very same voice that had encouraged her to go on in times of hardship, to continue padding on the path of life despite the obstacles blocking her way, and filled her with warmth, making her purr. Countless times it had mollified her anger and awakened laughter from its deep, long slumber. It was the voice of her mate: King Lionroar, past king of the Blu Galaxias. Queen Icewinter whipped around, expecting to see the golden face of her beloved, but only the sight of the intricately decorated door of the Blu Galaxia Palace met her. Turning, the queen glanced down at her paws. It must have just been her imagination. There was no way that it could have been her king. Grief consumed her as she remembered her brave mate. The kingdom recalled him as a courageous king that never faltered in carrying out his duty, unstinting, righteous, and benevolent, always loyal to his kingdom, but she remembered him as the cat he was—the individual he had been—, a compassionate and funny and easy-going cat: a tom who dreamed of soaring through the sky on silent wings, the gentle wind brushing his face and whispering tales of lands undiscovered and unknown, and who secretly wished for a life far away from the heavy responsibilities—the burdens—of a kingdom, care-free and simple. A tom who burst out with ridiculous jokes and groomed his long fur in a particular manner, whose glow of his amber eyes bathed the world in light....