The Last Prophecy

by Russell Loyola Sullivan

  *****

  It was a short journey. His first glimpse of the old town reminded him of himself: broken pieces of another lifetime.

  They dismounted and took a long look before entering.

  He allowed the time to give himself another round of blame. Self-pity was being served with every dish, it would seem—that damn pendulum had to be slowed down if he were to survive. This was not how a man reacted to adversity. Damn the gods of love, the gods of caring, all the damn gods. His inner space rattled with the inevitable coinage of conflict and violence.

  He had found the mercenary inside and brought him back to life. He had done what he had to do, and he now would take the punishment for the bloodshed, for the irrefutable finality of lost life, for the horrible details of what had happened.

  He forced himself to meet Brenna’s eyes, the heavy weight of his deeds upon her shoulders still all too evident. He had not felt this way since he’d had to escape what had happened to his tribe—a coward on the run.

  There was nowhere to run to this time.

  They walked up to the first building inside the gate. Oran came running from the structure, grabbed Devyn’s arm, and pulled him inside. “You made it. I knew if anyone could, you would.”

  “Oran. Good to see you.”

  The two traded stories of the road, and Oran explained how they came to find this camp. Devyn praised his friend’s incredible resourcefulness.

  Brenna excused herself and said she would return after letting her people know they had arrived.

  They both knew where the conversation must go to before they got down to any business. Devyn understood it was he who needed to bear the burden of doing so.

  “Selina died a heroine with a sword in her hand.”

  “It should have been me; you know that.” Oran bowed his head.

  “No, it should have been me. I was the one on the bridge when she was slain. I should have done more to insist she make her escape. She would have none of it.”

  “Yes, that’s the Selina we both know… knew.

  The conversation went on to stories of Selina and her life, as best they had knowledge of such experiences. She had been as private as both of them, and it was soon evident that she was a kindred soul to what the three considered important in life and worth protection.

  They finally let the pause in conversation sweep her memory inside their hearts and minds.

  “I shall not soon forget her,” Oran said.

  “Nor I. We shall find a way to remember all who have died for this cause. But we have a ways to go before this is over.”

  Devyn patted Oran on the back, and Oran returned the comradery.

  Oran insisted Devyn take a seat before he would broach the next subject.

  “He’s getting ready to come after you, and all who followed you,” Oran said.

  “How do you know what he’s up too?” Devyn took a look around. It had been some time since anyone had used this building.

  “Listen, Devyn. I knew before we left there would be repercussions… We’ve had two new arrivals in the last couple of days. One was a guard who’s had enough of Lord Wallace. The other was a cleric. Each was adamant that Lord Wallace was preparing to find you, the cup, and kill everyone connected to what he refers to as his world’s betrayal.”

  “Then I’ll leave. He’ll never catch us.”

  Oran lowered his head. “How about all the people who followed you?”

  Devyn slammed his fist on the table. Puffs of dust kicked out from the legs. “I should have kept it between Brenna and myself. Too late—”

  “That was never a possibility. You know that, Devyn.”

  Devyn gave a slight nod. “Now, what do we do?” He held up his hand. “Never mind… I know what we have to do. We fight the bastard.”

  “You have an army I don’t know about?” Oran asked.

  “We don’t need an army. He won’t send an army. He knows we’re not organized, a bunch of farmers. He’ll send a hundred men at best, and he won’t humble himself to show up. That gives us time for when he takes our threat for real and not some smite to his ego.”

  Oran looked down once more. “There’s one other thing, Devyn…” No words followed.

  “Spit it out, man. How much worse can it get?”

  “All those who made it here… they left many behind. Those who arrived recently tell of the torture and prosecutions that Lord Wallace has carried out in retaliation for what you did.”

  “I know—”

  “Wait.” Oran raised his hand. “They blame you.”

  “As well they should…” He got up and walked outside. Oran followed.

  Devyn assumed that what he had done as a mercenary was as low as a man could travel inside his soul. It appeared he was even mistaken about that. “Look. I can’t take back what I did, nor would I. I hate that so many people were killed, so many others forced to leave their homes. And yes, I’ll accept that responsibility.”

  Damn Ogmia and all the gods, great and small. Their folly was his misery. Were they connected to the cup, to the prophecies? If they were so powerful, why did they not intervene? He damned his own obvious answer to that question. He had always maintained that when you watched two great elks clash for their right to territory and offspring, they should be left alone to fight their own battles. So it was with the gods and Kielarans. If they were truly gods, then they merely watched.

  Still, damn them.

  Oran waited in silence. Devyn knew Oran was expecting him to say more, or maybe he was allowing Devyn to calm his obvious frustration. Either way, he needed to tell Oran everything. “But there’s more to it all. More to it than I could have imagined.”

  When Devyn finished telling Oran about the cup and what he and Brenna had learned and had yet to learn about the last prophecy, Oran shook his head. “So many problems to consider.”

  “We’ll deal with one thing at a time,” Devyn said. “Let’s organize ourselves. I’ll not die as a helpless chicken from the coop. Even a chicken is given good food and range to live its life before being offered up for food. I doubt that Wallace has any such plans for us.”

  “You’ve taken on this farmer thing way too literally,” Oran interjected.

  Devyn laughed, a long and releasing laugh, before he spoke again. “I was barely able to save my goats. Let’s meet with those who have joined us. Now that Brenna’s safe, I’ll take all the responsibility that they deem appropriate for what has transpired. I can lead, or I can leave; let them decide.”

  *****

  Brenna knew what the people thought of Devyn. She had tried her best to inform them of his choices and why they were necessary. But they had given up too much to not embrace a greater evil as the cause. Devyn was it. She had not liked his way of doing things, but she knew that it was the only way. Lord Wallace was not one to cater to the whims of the populace. His self-importance was a mirror for all his decisions. Devyn had known that. She had been naïve to think she somehow mattered as a caretaker, that any of them mattered.

  Her husband was the monster. Lord Wallace was far away. As word spread that Lord Wallace would follow them even here, her husband was seen as the one who had caused all their grief. No amount of persuasion had any effect on the angst the followers postulated.

  Her immediate family had recognized his need to protect her. They did not come and greet his return, however. They remained quiet, grieving the death of their other daughter. She had accepted that as a step forward.

  She waited outside until he finished with Oran.

  His eyes said everything. Or perhaps it was what they did not say. The mercenary was back in control.

  “I need you to assemble everyone.”

  She felt the sting of what was very much an order. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll give them a choice.”

  She put her hand on his chest. “You promised me we would make decisions together from now on. Remember?”

  “This has nothing to do w
ith you—”

  She pushed him back with both her hands. “No, not again—”

  “Listen, Brenna—”

  “No. You listen. Come with me.” She headed back toward the building her husband had just exited. Oran moved past her. She turned around. “Hey, Oran, is it okay if I use your headquarters for a short time?”

  Oran gave a slight bow. “Take as long as you want.” He glanced at Devyn and went on his way.

  She entered and sat. “Come sit, farmer. We need to talk.”

  “We need to act,” he said as he sat down. “Wallace is sending troops to hunt us all down.”

  “Dear Ogmia. So soon. Are you sure?”

  “As sure as we can be. Oran’s convinced by the latest arrivals that we’ll soon have visitors.”

  “And that’s why you want to talk to everyone?”

  “That, and… those who left their homes… lost their friends and family and now hate me. I get that. But their hatred won’t save them from Wallace. I might be a farmer now, but there was a time…”

  She reached across to where his big fists sat together, his arms at rest, even as his eyes blazed at having to be chastised. “I only want to talk with you. Please, I’m your partner. If you want to operate alone, I can’t stop you. But once you do that we’re no longer partners. You must decide which way you want to go.”

  “I need you safe.”

  She slapped the table. “I need you to be my partner. You protect me. I protect you. But I will not be caged. That’s not how I choose to live.”

  “Yes, I promised you more. I promised myself more… Brenna, for a long, long time I haven’t felt such fear as I feel now. I had assumed it was all for you. Yet the boy in me, the boy that ran away from the slaughter of my people, my family, that fear has now invaded my very soul.”

  “You have never called them family before now.”

  “It was easier if I referred to them as the tribe.” His fists rose in the air and came gently down on the table. Not a speck of dust was violated.

  She allowed a silence to settle them into the connection that made them one. She wished him safety. She bent her thoughts to make him feel a part of her, a part of her family. She slowed her breathing and hummed a love song inside her mind. She pushed her hands to where his fists shook, not to touch him, but to be near.

  She then spoke in a whisper. “I have never been safer than how I feel with you. I think when two people come together, the joining brings safety. I have always loved seeing a pack of wolves, how they allow the weak and the old a place in front so that they might set the pace, how the strong alpha males hold up the rear where attack might come from. They do not hide their weak to protect them; they bring them along as they travel and hunt. We have much to learn from our brothers and sisters of the forest.”

  He sat back in his chair. “I’m sorry. We’ll do this together. I won’t let my fear consume me.”

  “You may think it’s your fear of not being adequate; that’s because the boy still lives inside you, and his choice was survival, as it was all he could do at the time. The man inside you needs to see the difference. The man has many skills that the boy did not have. Make sure the boy now knows what the man knows, that death is nothing more than transition. The man has learned to protect himself, and kill if necessary. The boy carries the fear of what he could not do. The man’s real fear is of what he can do.”

  “You talk like some mystic cleric who has had too much of the spirits. Where did you learn all this?”

  “While you were practicing with your sword, I was being taught by the clerics you refer to.”

  Devyn went to the small window. “What should I—? What should we do?”

  She joined him and rubbed his back. “We’ll meet with them together. But let me talk first, and then you’ll explain what needs to be done.”

  “What needs to be done is someone should finish the reign of Wallace. But that’s not going to happen soon.”

  “We need answers.” She sat back down at the table.

  He continued staring out the window. “If the clerics or the scholars had any answers, surely Wallace would have that information. It makes no sense to go get their help.”

  She nodded. “Yes, you’re possibly right.”

  “You mentioned the Old World. Where can we go to learn about that?”

  She jumped from her chair and kissed him on the lips. “Of course, the Hall of Learning! There’s one here. We’ll start there.” She kissed him again. “You might only be a farmer, but you’re a very smart one.”

  “That only leaves the problem of our followers and Wallace to solve. I’m on my way to becoming the Lord of the Lands.”

  She noted the gleam in his eyes. He was still assessing the more deaths he would be responsible for. She waited and gave him his time to step back into the man she knew. All that could be heard was the tapping of his finger on the windowsill.

  It was madness to think that the two of them could solve the prophecy, and then carry out anything it might require. The prophecy appeared to point to some great danger; they had barely escaped with the clothes they had on, and little more. It was equally insane to believe that the problem would go away, or that it would somehow solve itself. There was no one to turn to, no one to trust back in the garrison. If they believed what the prophecy implied, they needed to solve it or suffer the consequences.

  She let it go, focused again on the finger tapping. She would wait for Devyn to speak about what he was considering.

  “When I spoke with Oran, I told him we could buy some time by preparing a small troop to counter what Wallace will send against us. It was but a half-measure of what needs to be done.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Buying time is merely that. I know this place. This is where my people lived. They were no subjects to Wallace. I would strongly guess the people who live here now are no more fond of his high taxes and stifling control.”

  The change in him was as obvious as it was profound. From the farmer to the mercenary, his shoulders squared, his very words embraced what she knew he would say next.

  “I’ll not desert your family and your friends, no matter what they might think of me. You and I will search the ends of our world to find an answer to the prophecy. But first I’ll tell these people that their flight was not in vain. I’ll also search out some old acquaintances. If we die it’ll not be for lack of resolve, and if we live let us be able to say it was worth the effort.”

  Chapter 14

  The Shepherd and the Wolf

  Lord Straten Wallace made his way to the dungeon. No one had given him any useful information about where Devyn or Brenna Gerrick might be found.

  The clerics had all but choked on their ramblings about being attacked, meaningless words of conjecture and supposition attempting to save themselves from what they surely deserved for having set free his next caretaker-of-the-cup.

  His spies and guards had at least been more circumspect; they had merely bent their heads in silence.

  He gripped the handle of his dagger. The black jewels were cold to the touch. They felt as he did, no doubt. He knew their history; well, not all of it. Sometimes he imagined that they glowed when he made the blade carry out his judgment. It might be that the jewels captured the enormity of all that had fallen to his blade. No matter, the jewels were what they were: a dagger that could not be destroyed.

  It had been some time since he had wondered about the pedigree of the black jewels. All records had been purged, and his lineage alone had access to any of the story, or what was left of it. His benefactors had decimated the temple and taken the chalice, along with the book that had mentioned the black jewels. That book was now lost to antiquity, yet a few journals of his ancestors noted the jewels left behind and the need they served. In the slim scraps of lore he had in his possession, the jewels held some power to protect, although to protect from what the writings gave no further clue.

  He was not the first to try and find more
of the black jewels: an army of men and women had been lost in the attempt.

  The dagger he wore at his side held two such black jewels, or so he had been told. No further certainty of their authenticity was possible as no other black jewels were available to compare. He would use that dagger to kill both Gerricks.

  Gerrick had done him a favor in some ways, a favor he would kill him for. He could now blame the disappearance of the cup on Gerrick, and should they find him and the fake cup? Well, he would blame that on Gerrick, too. It would still not solve where the real cup had gone.