The Last Prophecy

by Russell Loyola Sullivan

  Oran’s head was still down. “I fear we make the choice for all. Ogmia forgive us.”

  “Ogmia will thank us for the ones we save.”

  They both turned to where the sound of hoof-falls sounded in the distance. Selina, most likely. He could make out her hair swinging this way and that as her horse lost no time galloping toward them.

  They both allowed her arrival to end the discussion, one that could only be a difference of opinion that in the end would matter not.

  A small cloud of dust rolled toward them as her horse tossed its head and came to a stop.

  “You boys waiting on me?” She was off her horse and patting its nose before either of them could answer.

  “The family’s down in the back field,” Oran said. “We can talk as long and loud as we want to.” Oran looked hard at Devyn and quickly added a smile for Selina.

  Devyn winced. First his wife, and now Oran. What was he doing? He checked himself; better still, what were they thinking? Did Oran not understand that what needed to be done had to be done quickly and in secret; no time for long speeches to people who would not change their minds, no matter what. They were all less than a poor option against Wallace and his troops. And the magic that madman possessed was something Devyn could only ignore; he had no match for it, plus all the other issues demanded careful planning and execution, even allowing they would get a chance to put any part of it into motion.

  “I think it’s time to set the departure—”

  “Why? What happened?” Selina gave her horse a push, and the mare went off to graze.

  “Nothing happened,” Devyn answered.

  Oran shot a glance at Selina as he addressed Devyn. “We have a whole season to put our plan into action. The last time we met, we were all about getting people to join that departure without tipping our hand. What changed?”

  Devyn looked in the direction of the garrison. “I don’t know what I know, or how I know it, but something’s about to happen.”

  “How soon?” Oran asked.

  “I don’t know. Soon.”

  Selina clasped Devyn’s shoulder. “Let’s slow down.”

  He backed away from her hand. “I can’t. Brenna met with her cleric friend. He told her not to go back—”

  “What?” Selina and Oran spoke in unison. Selina continued. “When did she meet with him?”

  Devyn related what had transpired, leaving out the details of how he and Brenna were not exactly in agreement when it came to what should happen next.

  “I understand your concern,” Oran said. “You believe Brenna has more at stake than most of us.”

  Oran looked at Selina, and her head dropped.

  “I’m sorry,” Oran added. “You both have much more at stake here than me. I’m just trying to ensure those who live get a chance to escape what otherwise might be a slaughter.”

  Selina nodded. “If she is the caretaker-of-the-cup, and she leaves, then yes, the good Lord Wallace will bring hell to bear on all who knew her and the ones who aided in her escape.”

  “My main concern is Brenna. I told you both that was so when I planned this. I get it that others will be dragged into the vortex of my decision, and they should be saved, and I get it even more that to save Brenna alone would be a failure, as she would see it as such. But we can’t save the whole damn world. I won’t lose her attempting to save them all. Do you both understand?”

  Neither spoke. They didn’t need to. He saw them exchange glances that said it all.

  He spit into the dirt. “Sorry. Let’s concentrate on your families and Brenna’s; everything else will be a plus.”

  The silence that followed rattled through his senses like a walk through a ghost town—all the ghosts there because of his doing, and none willing to speak. Maybe no one but him understood the limits of what could be accomplished. People made their own decisions. Still, he held the image of torn shutters dancing against the sides of dilapidated buildings. He would help save who he could, second only to saving Brenna first.

  Oran patted his shoulder. “Let me get us something to drink.” And he turned to do so. Devyn and Selina waited in silence.

  *****

  And the old memory flooded his senses.

  Tracker had stood up even before the sound of the hooves reverberated in the distance, a dim pounding of a drum at first, then an avalanche of a thundering waterfall, at first frightening, and then all-out panic as the screams and slashing of swords coalesced in a cacophony of dreadful finality. Devyn crawled under a wagon, leaving behind a scraped trench that filled with blood as he peeked out; Tracker went down beside the wagon, blood pouring from his face, his eyes still open, seeing nothing more. Devyn rolled out the other side and slipped into the river. The current took him far downstream before he emerged, and there he huddled against a rock and shook, more from the shock and fear of what had transpired than any chill the water and cold night air might have brought.

  No tears. A coward had no right to cry.

  *****

  Oran returned and handed them each a drink.

  “We came to this to save as many as we could,” Oran said. “Yes, I want my family to survive. I also believe as you do that Lord Wallace is an evil that can only get worse. Whatever he’s done to the prophecies is a mystery.” He looked at Selina. “We’ve lost caretakers. We might lose more. Wallace is a force we can’t put a dent in. So yes, the best course of action is to take who we can and organize somewhere far away from here.”

  “It’s now more urgent than that. I believe they’ll soon take Brenna. Move with me, or I’ll move alone.”

  “Quit threatening us, Devyn,” Selina said. “I’ve lost someone in this situation, remember? My sister? What I do is no longer for her as she’s gone. At first I felt a great need for retribution. That too has passed. Now I want to save people from his evil, Brenna included. But it’s about more than her.”

  “I’m not threatening anybody. I’m in this to save Brenna.”

  “Easy. Easy there.” Oran stepped between them. “This little group gets to save a lot or a few. If we blow this up now, it’ll most certainly be the few. Let’s call a truce. Let’s talk about what we can maximize in the time allotted. Is that reasonable?”

  They both nodded.

  “How much time do we have?” Oran asked.

  “Ten spins to the sun, maybe fifteen. I want to move in five,” Devyn said. There was that glance between the two once again. “Look, I’m sorry. Unless someone can convince me otherwise, I believe the cleric’s words to Brenna tell us that Wallace will move sooner rather than later to claim his caretaker for this sunglow solstice. I want to be ahead of that happening.”

  He could tell that Selina had reached some decision. A smile spread across her face. “I guess it matters little if it’s fifteen suns or twenty, or indeed five, the result will be the same. We’ll never get everyone; and the longer we wait the bigger the chance we’ll be discovered. I’m in.”

  “Me, too.” Oran embraced his friend. “I guess we did not join you for your good looks, or your quiet demeanor. You’re good at staying alive and keeping other people alive. No matter how much I might disagree on an issue, I don’t doubt you’re the best to carry out this plan.”

  Another flash of his tribe being decimated; he had certainly not been there to save them. “Good, let’s talk about how we move it up a few spins.”

  They went inside the house, and Oran poured them each another drink, offering a plate of freshly baked biscuits that proved their vintage by the fresh aroma that filled the kitchen.

  “Some want to go to the Flat Lands. There’s plenty of land available for farming,” Oran said.

  “Not a good choice,” Devyn said. “Not that Wallace will likely send any troops after us. But if he does, the Flat Lands will offer no place to hide or defend ourselves.”

  Selina shook her head. “We can’t tell people where to go. It’s their decision—”

  “Then they might as well stay here,” De
vyn interrupted. “Going to the Vineyards or the Flat Lands is a stupid idea for people wanting to escape the claws of Wallace.”

  “Where to, then?” she asked.

  Was that a touch of disdain in her voice? No matter; he would tell her what was best, and she could do with the information as she saw fit. “The Eastern Seaboard or the Desperate Lands would ensure no one would have an easy time finding us, but what they could find there might be a bit worse than what they are moving away from. That leaves the Steel Mountains, in my estimation.” Devyn added the best stare of confidence he could muster.

  Oran raised his hand. “Listen, if we plan this properly, a few people, departing here and there, will not be seen as a planned escape, especially if we all get away before Brenna is chosen. If she is the one chosen—”

  “She will be,” Devyn said.

  Oran nodded. “All right, then. We agree that we get away before that happens. Surely we commit no crime by moving to another part of the country.”

  “You’re right,” Devyn said. “But once we take away his choice of caretaker, all who strive to leave will be found guilty of collaboration.”

  “I think we can agree on that,” Selina said.

  Devyn nodded. “Good. I know the Steel Mountains. There are plenty of places to be safe, and there’s an open ocean to the north should we need to make an exit. The climate is not quite as warm as here, but it has a good growing season and lots of rain.”

  Selina and Oran looked at each other. Selina nodded.

  “Then I guess we try and have those coming along with us travel to the Steel Mountains. I’m all right with it.” She looked again at Oran. “You?”

  “I’m good.”

  “How many will join us?” Devyn asked.

  “Less than we would want. Maybe twenty-five families so far,” Oran answered. “It’s best we get started in the next day or so if we want to kick up the least suspicion possible.”

  “Get the folks the farthest from the city on the move first,” Devyn added. “That’ll put more distance between each group and attract less notice closest to the city until we’re all on the way.”

  “I’ll make the contacts. My horse could use the exercise,” Selina said.

  Devyn could not help but smile. “Thank you. I have contacts in Highrest. At the very least they’ll help us settle in.”

  “How soon then?” Oran asked.

  Devyn stood up from the table. “Let’s get the first group out of here in two days. Five days from now, I leave.”

  Finally this was going to happen. He didn’t miss one more furtive exchange between Oran and Selina. Let them exchange looks. It didn’t matter. He had more to risk than they did. He would get Brenna to safety, and her family would be with her.

  “Selina will get the first groups on the road. Let’s meet back here in two days and see where we are. That’s reasonable with you?”

  They both nodded.

  “Wallace will come after us,” Oran said. “We’ll need to form an army—”

  “Are you mad? First we have to save the world, and next we form an army and attack Wallace?” Devyn shook his head. “Anyone who’s ever tried to form an army during the reign of him and his family before him has been wiped from existence. Wallace tolerates competition about as well as a lizard tolerates an insect on its tongue. And the lizard doesn’t have the damn magic. Wallace does.”

  Selina smiled. “A lizard as a comparison to Lord Wallace. I didn’t know you liked lizards so little. We’ll have no peace until Wallace is neutralized. I agree we can’t amass an army that could even come close to defeating him, but that doesn’t mean we should go undefended. We—”

  “Whoa.” Devyn raised his hands. “We don’t need this conversation now. We’ve a mass of other matters to attend to. Whether we form an army or not is irrelevant to our leaving. Agreed?”

  “I agree,” Selina said. “Hear me out. We may never have the power to bring down the pack of wolves that Wallace has amassed, but we can become the wolverine, and—”

  “Wolverine! Selina, are you seriously going to tell us an animal story?” Devyn asked.

  “The wolverine, yes. No other animal can match its strength. Not much bigger than a weasel, it can bring down a racked bull moose if it’s hungry enough. It can run through snow, so it can hunt in any weather. I’m not saying we can defeat Wallace, but we can become agile, fierce, and capable, and that’ll help us survive.”

  “Okay, good animal story.” Devyn could not help but laugh. “We’ll become wolverines.”

  “And you’ll be our leader,” Orin added.

  “I’m no one’s leader.”

  “It’s too late for that decision, my friend. Either way, you’ve picked it, or it’s picked you. Selina and I follow you because of your history; the rest will do so for the same reason. What comes next is no longer your choice. You’re our leader,” Orin said.

  This was getting out of hand. It was bad enough he should have to explain that he was taking Brenna and her family away; it was a whole other litter of unruly cats to tell her he was also amassing an army to protect against Wallace.

  They took their leave from each other. Fury did not even pause for traction when recrossing the bridge. Devyn could have sworn his hooves had not even touched the middle of the bridge, other than the sound that told a different story. This whole thing was looming out of proportion. He had known he could not escape with only Brenna; she would not allow friends and family to be left behind. But the idea of him as leader for some uprising was not at all in his plans.

  He took the long way back to the farm, letting Fury walk and on occasion stop and take a few blades of grass, not at all his usual mode of travel. Fury no doubt enjoyed the grass as fair payment for having to walk.

  A simple plan was turning into a multitude of potential consequences, all of them pointing to disaster.

  Chapter 4

  Lord of the Lands

  Straten Wallace gazed out at the city below—his city.

  Standing here had little to do with any connection to those below, or any communion with nature. He silently observed the quality of the evening: no foul smell from the marketplace, clouds across the moons, shadows covering shadows in places where the many reflected lights barely glimpsed across each other’s path. The dim lights from the windows, like dark ocean waves on a dim moonlit night, washed over each other—the windows of the garrison’s houses, inns, stores, and sheds. There was smoke on the light breeze, nothing he could observe, smoke from the fires that keep the cold at bay for those who still harbored a need to keep away the cold. But better still to what he willed his sensibilities, it was the quality of the special stillness he took in, a stillness that only the arrival of night could conjure.

  He pulled his dagger from its sheath. The blade of any other dagger would normally be hidden against the darkness, but the black jewels on the handle caught the faint glow from the moons and passed that light along the blade.

  He cut away a hangnail from his thumb, wiped the trickle of blood from the blade, and returned the knife to its sheath. The dagger remained a new blade no matter how he used it, a new blade no matter how many times those black jewels were covered in blood; he scarcely remembered how many times he’d expected the blade to break—in its master’s need to dispense with life. But the blade always held sharp and at the ready. There was none other like it.

  He looked off to the south. The cool air and subtle light offered him an obscure outline of the vastness of the Muirin Sea, and off to his right the black, murky, explosive surge of water down the East River, down to where it emptied into the Muirin, that sea an abundance of saltwater oppulence, so necessary to life, and a place to hide many things should you wish such things to remain hidden.

  He had stepped onto his stone balcony to do some thinking, not as an excuse to look about—views being nothing more than distractions, unless they offered some advantage to survival. It was the darkness enticing him to witness its thickening shroud
all about his kingdom.

  No fault of his mind to witness such a transformation, he surmised. After all, the darkness was his friend, as was the sun to all that needed growth. He could grow no more; all power was his, and he had no need for the light. He was about sustaining; that took cunning, and the shadows, and the darkness.

  He grasped the balcony’s cold steel railing and returned his attention to his more pressing need. Even with a city full of servants and advisors, there was no one with whom he could take counsel, no one to trust, and so as night wrapped around his castle he struggled with a problem that had, so far, refused to be solved.

  Usually any concerns he might have came with a simple solution: seldom negotiate, and if necessary, eliminate the cause—whether the target was inanimate or otherwise. Not this problem. And thus he stood here on his sculpted precipice, looking out over his fiefdom, most of the chattel tucked in for the evening.