The Coming of a Storm

I come from a mighty line of Storm's out of the North. My great-grandparents, Daemon and Drusilla, founded the family in the hidden city of Treve. Their second son, Kane, branched to the south and helped tame paradise -- the grand city of Schendi. His sons, Arioch and Killian, have ruled for more than fifty years.

Kane, the epitome of the puissant rarius, became enamored of a beautiful, purple-eyed woman, Phoebe, a singer of the Machaka tribe of the Ushindi. Their son Killian, my sire, inherited her gift for music, her love of poetry and her open-hearted spirit. Alas, circumstances and custom conspired against him. His birthright was the sword and mantle of authority; the arts would be demoted to avocation. Abu has taken many companions. None has had the tenacity, spirit and indomitable will to withstand the scrutiny of his pre-eminence or the comparison to the paragon Phoebe.

I am not Killian's first born, though I am the eldest of the his surviving children. My brother Alexander was murdered in utero by his mother only days before he was to be born. He will ever be mourned. The melodramatic details of my own birth do not merit iteration herein. Let it serve the tale to know only that Sigh Honoria Xenos, a scribe, bore me. I was given to believe she died shortly thereafter. Needless to say, I was disabused of that notion many years after reaching majority. From Killian, I have two half-brothers and from Sigh four younger half-brothers (interestingly, those four are also Storms by blood, sons of my great-uncle Kaleb). Though we speak of her no more, I had an adopted sister who was dear to me.

I have been my father's darling since the moment of my birth. I have known the glory of his praise, the warmth of his love, the generosity of his heart and the wrath of his will. Disdained by subsequent companions and heedless of the briberies of those who unsuccessfully attempted to join Abu, I thrived on his attention and sought to be the quintessential noblewoman.

My first memories are of song -- Abu's voice in lullabies, the trilling of his czehar late in the night as he lulled away the oppressive burdens of daily sovereignty. His patience never wore thin as he taught three-year old hands to strum and pluck my first miniature kalika. Simple melodies and lyrics to delight a child kept me enthralled. Frequent trips up the Ua to visit my other great-grandmother, Letti'ya, Phoebe's mother, herself a tribal singer, inspired my voice. In guiding me through the phrasings and intonations of the jungle song-stories, she helped me become fluent in the melodic tongue of the Machaka, my people.

The child of an Ubar not only must be above reproach, she must also be learned in the ways of politics, diplomacy, law, propriety and tradition. The grand dame Drusilla, a lady of noble grace, fierce pride and unerring strength saw to my education. During a -- dare I say it? -- stormy companionship, I was sent to Treve, to the relentless tutelage of my great-grandmother. Only twelve upon my return to Schendi, I was, none the less, a Lady, sophisticated, adroit, proper, graceful, polished. In essence, I had become a true Storm woman.


Goodbye, my friend,
I'd like to leave you with something warm,
But I have never been a blue, calm sea
I have always been a storm

from Storms by Stevie Nicks (c) 1979