Nanowrimo!!!!

Prologue
All around is cool darkness. The air is heavy with the scent of blood and fire. Silence is a soft layer easily broken. Nothing stirs but old things long forgotten and best left unseen. This place exists somewhere between dreams and illusion. Lying on a hard surface that resembles stone, a small figure stirs fitfully in the throes of unneeded sleep.
            He opens his eyes to a world unknown.
            Drawing himself carefully to his knees, he stares around in befuddled confusion. He remembers nothing before this moment. This thought does not frighten him.
            The darkness around his kneeling figure draws back as he rises. He blinks into a queer grey light and turns slowly in place. Almost he sees movement in the lurking shadows. He considers the wisdom of leaving his ring of grayness.
            “Come.” A soft voice whispers from the darkness. He turns towards it expectantly. It is a blurred shape mostly obscured. When nothing else is forthcoming he takes a tentative step in its direction. The grey light follows him.
            “Come.” Again the voice speaks from beyond the boundary of light. He feels himself compelled by its presence. He follows.
            As he walks, he remembers the feel of wind on his face. The memories that accompany that feeling are elusive. He sees a woman with red hair. Terror and longing almost overcome him at the sight of her in his mind. He does not know her name but he knows her. The feel of her skin beneath his hands and the easy laughter that fell from her lips-all these things he knows.
            A path has become visible before him and he sets himself upon it with no trepidation. The voice speaks no more, its presence is gone. He understands that he is to follow the path, alone, to its destination.
            He follows the path unerringly for a long time. How long is something he does not bother to ask. The concept of time does not impress itself upon him. The darkness shifts agreeably about him as he passes.
            At last he sees a looming structure before him that blocks his way. It arches far overhead and melts easily into the darkness. A heavy door stands tall and menacing with strange images carved onto it. He stares at the carvings for a long time but their meaning remains elusive. With a determined shake of his head, he places both hands against the door.
            Silent and reluctant, the door eases open revealing a long stretch of open space. With no reason to fear, he enters the strange hall and the door falls closed behind him. Its seams blend completely into the surrounding walls leaving no trace of an entrance.
            The shadows in the hall are lighter and more fluid than those from the outside. They flit aimlessly from one corner to the next in chaotic abandon. He notices that the grey light has expanded to fill the entire hall revealing everything before him.
            A dais stands at the far end and he knows this is the end of the path. He walks cautiously down the empty hall. The sense of caution gives him pause but there are no accompanying memories. It is useless for him to ponder this so he does not.
            Standing before the empty dais, he waits. A soft noise that might be laughter echoes behind him but he remains at the ready. He can feel a tension in the air that disturbs him. His left hand clenches reflexively and he wonders what it longs to grasp.
            As he watches, a pool of darkness begins to gather on the raised platform. It shifts and strains with apparent effort while all around him the hall is filled with unintelligible whispers. An impression of a man takes form but remains oddly fluid. There are no discernable features but he has the impression that it is staring at him.
            “At last you come.” The voice is male and heavywith an undeterminable accent. He shifts nervously in place.
            “Where am I?” He asks the shadow-man. It chuckles dryly.
            “The place through which even Death must pass.” This makes no sense to him and he wonders why he asked. But questions burn within him though he does not understand where they come from. He has to know. That thought is accompanied by a surge of panic.
            “Who am I?”
            The shadow-man is silent as the darkness trembles around them. It raises an arm composed of shadows and points a long slender finger at him. His spine unconsciously stiffens.
            “Nevan Kieran, son of Avna, called Nevan the Dark, Scourge of the Amiad, Lord of Death; I name you.” The shadow-man lowers its arm. He breathes in relief although he is perplexed. The names mean nothing to him.
            “Why am I here?”
            “Ah.” Its amusement is evident. His body shudders but he is not afraid. He is angry.
            “You are here,” It makes an expansive gesture, “because all things must be judged.”
            The words send a jolt of pain through his gut that leaves him gasping. A flood of images assaults his mind making him wince.
            He stands defiant and unafraid before a towering woman. Her hair is pulled back from her face in a tight, severe braid. A wickedly curved blade hangs casually at her side and an unstrung bow is slung over one shoulder.
            “It has been left to me to sentence you.” She tells him sternly.
            “What you have done goes beyond normal disobedience or childish pranks. Do you have anything to say?”
            He lifts his chin squaring his jaw. “Nothing I say will make any difference anyhow.”
            “You know that is untrue.” Her admonishment is old and worn. It has been spoken too many times to retain its proper meaning. To him it is a sign that she will listen to nothing he says, that she cares naught for him.
            “I told you, I found her like that.” He does not really care anymore if she believes him. Not anymore. The bond between mother and child has never been a part of their relationship. She is a stranger to him as he is to her. Now, she is both judge and enforcer.
            “You leave me no choice.” She sighs heavily. “I banish you from the Amiad. You may never again find shelter amongst the Westland. You are banished from my camp. You are not my son. I have no children.” She delivers this pronouncement with a voice utterly devoid of emotion.
            He sneers at her in contempt but his heart is crying in despair. Much as he dislikes the Amiad and their rules, he knows nothing else. They might not show him the least kindness but he has slowly earned their grudging respect. Even at fourteen summers he is the best swordsman the clan had ever seen.
            “As I have judged so shall it be.” She pauses but he does not respond. “At dawn you will be taken to the eastern border. From that moment on if you enter our lands you will be hunted down and killed. Do you understand?”
            “Yes.” He cannot bring himself to say more. Her coldness hurts him deeply but he does not show it. It is all he can do to remain standing in the face of her anger and rejection. He wonders how he will survive alone.
            Opening his eyes in surprise, he sees the shadow-man standing patiently before him. He remembers the memory that just flooded his senses with a vividness that surprises him. A tear leaks from the corner of his eyes and he brushes it away, embarrassed.
            “You are here to be judged.” The shadow-man repeats. It shifts restlessly on the dais.
            “You have left an irreparable mark upon the world of men. It will be generations before your name is no more than a scribble on the pages of history. There must be recompense.” The shadow-man seems to stare intently at him and he quakes before that dark gaze.
            “There have been many dead things in this hall of late. And it is your name they cry as they pass.”
            “I don’t remember.” He tells the shadow-man. The words are true but not. He knows the memories lay somewhere deep within his mind. He can sense their lurking presence.
            “Your death was violent. It will return over time.” From the shadows around them he hears stifled laughter.
            “So, I am dead.” He says it in acknowledgement and does not dispute it. Death, like time, is something vague and surreal that means nothing to him.
            “You cannot pass beyond this place until you have paid for your life.” It intones, making him shiver. A feeling dread creeps over him.
            “What do you mean?” He is almost afraid to voice the question but he has to know.
            “It is decided.” The shadow-man raises its dark arms towards the ceiling and calls out loudly into the large hall: “Nevan Kieran you will return to the lands from whence you came. You are dead and will not live again but you will appear to those you meet as you were in life. Your task is to stop a war from happening, a war that will tear the world asunder.”
            “Why?” He is curious. It does not seem important to him. The shadow-man suddenly towers over him, its size tripled.
            In a loud angry voice it addresses him, “Your crimes are many, Nevan Kieran. Blood lays heavy upon your hands. If this war comes to pass, you shall never pass into the beyond. Always will you wander the earth neither truly living nor dead, seen by no one. A ghost you will become on the eve the first blades cross. Remember.”
            The dark, sifting shadows that comprise the shadow-man continue to expand, filling the hall with their nothingness. He is too surprised to run as he is engulfed by the cool blackness.
            Before his conscious fades a voice whispers softly into his ear, “Watch for the ember moon that would steal your secrets. Follow the yellow flower to the gates of despair. Your path will flow from there. And remember,” He strains to catch the words feeling himself drifting away, “if you send any more souls to the Halls of Judgment your fate will be sealed.”