Prologue from my new novel, "Under a Gypsy Moon" by Tara Catherine Dunn

The Kingdom of Bín Orían
Year 693

The young man woke from his disturbing dreams and peered around the darkened chamber to assure himself that all was indeed well. He couldn’t even remember falling asleep the night before, but there he was lying half-clad on his bed alone. The fact that he was alone should have troubled him, since rarely did he not have a willing woman warming his sheets and his person.
But the question of why he couldn’t remember getting there was more disturbing for the moment, as was why his head felt like someone had continually smashed their fists against his temples. It was a strange phenomenon indeed. One that demanded his immediate attention.
Climbing off his bed, he placed his feet on the cold wooden floor and pondered his current state of mind. He remembered waking up the previous morn. He had broken his fast at his father’s table and then headed to the lists to spend the afternoon training with his older brother. The afternoon had progressed well, and he had even managed to best Stefan, who was much older and stronger than himself. A fact that Stefan never let him forget. But even though his brother was broader and possessed much more muscle mass, he had been performing well, and even holding his own for a reasonable amount of time.
By the time he had bested his older brother dinner had been prepared, which he also remembered vividly since his mother had prepared his favorite meal in honor of his growing strength. He had feasted and drank, and then… nothing. He couldn’t recall a single detail after that dinner. Something was very wrong. It wasn’t like him to not remember the whole night.
He would like to blame his discomfort on his earlier dream, but that couldn’t be the source. He had been having the same dream of death and destruction for weeks now. Though he should be worried about the gruesome contents his mind had been torturing him with, he just attributed it to too much stress and way too much ale before bed. The latter he would definitely have to stop indulging in.
But if the dream wasn’t caused by that, then what could be its cause? He wasn’t a seer like his father. No, his father was a powerful mage, but he hadn’t inherited any of his predecessor’s powers. Plus, none of his other dreams had become premonitions, so there was no sense in worrying that this particularly disturbing one might hint at future events yet to unfold.
Completely convinced that his worry was misplaced, and figuring that it didn’t matter how he had found his bed, he (lied) back down and let the night’s silence lull him back into sleep. He had almost drifted off when a startling realization hit him. It was too quiet. His home, no matter the hour was never silent. Something was horribly wrong. And his mind would never let him rest until it was assured that things were alright.
Throwing himself once again off his bed, he ran out of his room. The concern was so strong he didn’t even bother to clad himself properly and ran out barefoot. He would find everyone well and go straight back to bed, he prayed. And never again would he have ale before bed. Better yet, he would never indulge in strong drink again.
While he walked the halls of his father’s house everything seemed normal. Everything was as it should be. No suspicious shadows lingered overlong in corners. No trespassers jumped out to attack. Things were just as expected. Until he entered the kitchen and his whole body stopped frozen in place staring at the exact scene from his dreams that every night made him scream out in horror.
Both his mother’s and father’s bodies were lying lifeless on the wooden floor. Blood stained everything from their slashed throats and tattered bodies.
This couldn’t be happening, his mind roared. They were everything he had. Who would do this? Who could do this? He couldn’t think as rage and sorrow mingled and raced through his body coloring everything crimson. He was pure rage, pure rage and pure sorrow. They battled for the forefront. And the winner promised to break him even more, tear his heart to tatters. They shredded him from the inside out. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. There he was, knowing what he was seeing, but he was suspended in a moment of surrealism, lost in an ocean of grief that promised to consume him.
The waves of grief lapped at him harder, pounding over and over until the ocean sucked him down to drown him in its bitter saltiness. And then, all too soon, the present rushed back to him, and he ran to his mother and cradled her in his arms. His mother… his everything. She had always been there for him and now she was gone, leaving only her broken and cold body, an empty comfort to his sheltered heart.
“Mother, please wake up... please... don’t leave me. I need you,” he bellowed into the night, and pulled her body closer to him.
That was how they found him, covered in blood, clutching his mother’s body and weeping. Though his tears meant nothing to them. They didn’t give a damn. The Mage’s council entered the room with their guards and pulled him roughly to his feet. And he let them. What could he do? He was so weak from grief.
“What happened here? Who killed my parents?” the young man cried. They would have the answers. They would have to know. They knew everything. And when he heard the name of the killer, he would track the man down and destroy him for what he took.
“As if you don’t know.” Ardin, a mage that the young man had admired for his strength and cunning, said. “Take him to the dungeons. We will decide his fate on the morrow.” Immediately the guards moved to do his bidding.
“I didn’t kill them. Ardin, you know me. I didn’t do this,” the young man screamed at their accusations while he struggled with the guards trying unsuccessfully to secure his hands behind his back. “Stefan, Stefan,” he bellowed.
If anyone, his brother could sort out this matter and explain to them that they were making a mistake by accusing him while the real murderer was getting away.
“Enough. We know you killed your brother as well.” Ardin snarled, and the severity of his situation hit him so hard it had him sucking in air just to breathe. He had been found in his parent’s house, the only survivor and blood coating his body. Even he had to admit that it looked incriminating. That mingled with the fact that he couldn’t remember the night before had him questioning himself. Could it be that he had killed his parents and brother and couldn’t remember it? How was it possible?
Seeing that he had calmed down a degree, Ardin ordered the guards to take him away. He didn’t protest until they had dragged him out of the house. Only then did he break free of their hold and running as fast as he could, he escaped into the safety of the forest. Shouts came from every direction, but he continued to run, ignoring them.
He didn’t run because he was innocent in the crime. After everything that had happened, he just wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t going to sit in some dungeon and try and ponder it while he awaited his death over a crime he couldn’t remember committing. And if by some means he eventually remembered the deed, he would walk into the Mage’s council himself and let them do with him as they pleased. It would be what he deserved, but only if he had committed such a heinous act.
But how could he? He had loved his parents. Why would he kill them? And Stefan, he loved his brother more than life itself. He absolutely idolized him. It just didn’t make sense that he would kill him. Nothing made sense.
Growing weary at the pace he was now running and over the thoughts flittering through his groggy mind, he collapsed in the dirt and allowed the tears to come, tears for his mother that had always protected him, tears for his father that had always believed in him, and tears for the brother that had been his best friend, his mentor. Eventually the stinging in his heart abated and weariness took over.
Unfortunately he couldn’t give into its siren’s call no matter how strong the temptation was. The council would be out looking for him, demanding justice for his father, the head mage, and his slaughtered family. He needed somewhere safe to figure out what he needed to do. He needed to go to Réalta, the Kingdom to the north. Easily he could hide out there until he figured out if he was capable of committing such an atrocious act. Réalta. It was the place for him. Deciding on his location, he pulled himself up and started running once again, squelching the weariness. His name would be cleared. He didn’t give a damn about what the council thought, but he needed to know for himself that he didn’t do what they accused of him. He needed to know the truth, and he would have it if it was the last thing he did.