Saffira, his younger sister by two years, strutted up to his table and slumped her slender form into the seat across from him. Peter raised his head and dropped his hands with a thud on the wooden table. Before him, was his untouched meal. He hadn’t even noticed that anyone delivered it. "I know, I know, I'm supposed to meet the chamber guard shortly to investigate where the magic was taken," he murmured.
"That's not what I was going to say," Saffira replied, plucking a piece of fruit from her brother’s plate and popping it into her mouth. Peter’s brow furrowed. What this time? "Your birthday is tomorrow."
Peter waved a hand at her. He hadn't the time to celebrate when other matters pressed mercilessly. "Forget it," he told her.
"Look, Peter,” she said as she crossed her arms. “I couldn’t careless thatyou'returningnineteen, but mother hasn't celebrated your birthday with you since you were five."
Peter leaned back in his chair while the image of their aging mother flashed across his memory. He sighed. Saffira was right, of course. A pang of guilt punctured him. He had spent hardly any time with mother since returning to Gnosi. When Cam visited, he had taken her to see his mother, but that had been the only time. Otherwise, he had rather avoided the memories of his father’s persistent presence which always seemed to surround him in that house.
“She's already planned dinner.” Peter glanced up. “Don't worry, it'll just be us," Saffira added. When Peter didn’t reply, she stood up. "I'll tell her you'll be there. Tomorrow night." Peter offered a curt nod, and Saffira walked towards the dining room door. "By the way, I've been in the realm quite a while, and I have news that may interest you."
"Concerning what?" Peter shuffled loose papers into a neat pile and stood to meet Saffira's gaze.
"Don't know if you'll care though. It's about the Seekers...and Cam."
Peter’s brow deepened. "I don’t want to hear it, Ira. I told you, the Seekers are not a matter of importance right now."
"Whatever you say." Saffira dipped into her classic sarcastic bow and turned on her heel to leave the room. "Just so you know, Lord Cole Caddell is waiting for you in the hall. He says he has something of importance he would like to discuss with you."
Peter’s eyes widened. Why would Cole be here with no news previously sent of his coming? He waved his hand before slumping back into his seat, picking at his lip while considering whether or not he desired to hear of Cam. “Has she actually left?”
After a few moments of sulking, Peter shook off his irritation. Leaving his untouched supper, he departed from the fire-lit room and entered the hall. Cole Caddell, the man who had raised him, stood in the hall, arms open. Peter received an embrace without enthusiasm. Cole thumped the young man on the back. “Hello, my boy!” he greeted him heartily.
"Saffira said you wished to see me," Peter responded in a tone quite unlike Cole’s.
Cole nodded. "Yes, yes, my boy; but would you be so kind as to serve this old man some food? I have made a long trip, you know."
"Yes, of course. Where are my manners? Um... there's some in the dining room.” Theyoung man led Lord Caddell back into the room where he had spent the entire day. He slid his now cold food across the table. Peter leaned against the wall while Cole took his seat and gulped down the meal.
When he was finished, he wiped his mouth, corner to corner, and pushed his plate back. Cole met Peter’s preoccupied gaze for a long moment. Peter assumed he was attempting to concoct some way to bring up the fact that he had not been there during Camaria’s departure.
To his surprise, Cole did not speak but instead slid a glittering object across the table. Peter stepped forward, slowly approaching it. His fingers found the small, round stone set with four gems. The stone, attached to a chain, was much like his, though this necklace appeared older. The stone was cracked at one part and the jewels had not been polished for ages. The chain was rust-ridden and difficult to unclasp.
"The necklace was once your father’s," Cole stated in a low voice. Peter drew it closer, examining the object.
Sorrow churned in his stomach for a brief moment while the last image of his father flashed through his mind. Tall, long forehead, square jaw, dark hair, striking blue eyes that only he had inherited. Where Cole obtained the necklace, Peter made no assumptions. He had always thought it had been long lost, stripped from his father's neck before he was nailed to a tree next to the others, such as Camaria's mother.
"Why grant me this now?" he asked gruffly. He tossed it carelessly back onto the table. “I have no use for my father’s jewelry.”
Cole shrugged. "Just thought you may want to have it for yourself."
"You came all this way to give me my father's old necklace?” Peter’s brow shot up.
“Yes, Peter, yes I did,” Cole replied with a surprising tone of rebuke. “I also came to tell you the truth about your father." His voice softened, and Peter looked up, surprise marking his countenance.
"I know the truth," Peter said, slumping into his seat, arms across his chest.
Cole laughed. "Stop pretending you know everything, my young boy." Cole’s expression softened when Peter did not seem to find his words amusing. "Your father was not just a Spirit Follower."
Peter’s eyes flicked up, meeting Cole's. What could he mean? "He was my father...that's more than a Spirit Follower. He was a husband too. He was a victim...a man wrongly accused of adultery and treachery." Peter felt his blood rise with his voice and his body propelled forward.
"Oh, sit down," Cole demanded, clearly annoyed at the boy’s discontent behavior. He prepared to delve into the explanation. "Your father is what we call a Watcher."
"But aren't we all watchers?" Peter frowned. All Spirit Followers were watchers. By becoming a Spirit Follower they pledged to always be watching for the coming of the Savior to their world.
"Yes...well your father was a special kind of Watcher. These particular kinds of Watchers were and still are, given special gifts by Elyon. One day, we are all to receive these gifts after the coming of the Savior. But some of them, like your father, could do things no one else could. Daniel saw...into the future.”
Peter couldn’t keep his eyes from widening. “Seeing into the future” was an act done by wayward experimenters in countries like Caranthia and the desert tribes of the south. Not by...his father. He quelled his surprise. "Why was this never told me?"
"He released such information to only a few select persons.” Cole shrugged. He was staring at the table as if lost in his own words. "I only knew because we were companions for several years when he and Owen’s father were in Mirabelle.” He paused, turning his gaze to once again collide with Peter’s. A spark of anger flashed across his eyes. "That's why he was killed as brutally as he was."
“They knew.”
Peter’s mind wandered to turn over memories he hadn’t touched in years. He had only been five then, but the image was still vivid, even to this day. His father and a woman, Cassia, were stripped naked, beaten, and nailed to a tree while the entire realm became a witness. Peter gulped as if attempting to swallow the memory, but it only settled in his stomach to writhe. His fingers shook, and he found them soon gripping the cold chain of his father's necklace.
“He wrote what he saw of the future down," Cole continued, "and entrusted the writings to two friends who left Mirabelle and established Nazeria, the kingdom in the north. Their daughter Elizabeth, who has in recent years risen to power, has found a chest containing parchments filled with these words from your father. I have not yet searched through them. I thought you would like to do that first. And that perhaps...you had more right to.”
Peter’s eyes darted up as Colewithdrewfrom beneath the table a chest small enough to carry in his arms. Peter had not noticed it when Cole had entered. The latter slid the chest across to him. Peter reached forward and drew it towards him. His stomach churned. He did not yet have the courage to peer at its contents. What secrets would it hold? How much more pain of his father’s passing would
this inflict upon him? He gulped.
“But I’ve been searching for these answers. For years.” "Does my mother know he was a Watcher?" Peter asked.
Cole nodded. “Your mother and I, as well as the late Cassia and those who were our allies during the rebellion, all knew.” Peter’s heart thumped, andhisstomachturnedwarm. He clenched the chain in a fist.
“You should have told me.”
“It was never the proper time, and I had no proof. You always want proof.” Cole’s eyes glittered.
“Not when it comes to Elyon,” Peter objected.
“Then please, for your sake and for others, believe that this newfound information is a sign.”
Peter nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll take a look at it when I find the time.” The young man heaved the chest into his arms and started from the room.
“Be careful, Peter, about how you react to what you read. What you will read is the truth. For years, so many years, prophecies have existed with diverging claims of saviors and wars and one king. But some are very false. So many intertwine and contradict each other.”
“Howdo youknowif it is true?” heasked, findingthat his voice was barely audible.
Cole gave Peter a small smile. “The Nazerian queen believes what is written. If she believes it, so do I.”
Peter nodded. He had found Cole’s fondness for the queen of Nazeria strange at times, but he was right. Elizabeth’s parents had been in league with Daniel. It made sense.
“Thank you,” Peter heard himself say.
He looked up to see Cole nodded. His expression was contorted with concern. He rose to leave.
“Before you so rudely depart from me, Peter,” Cole said, drawing him back. "Don't be angry at Camaria for leaving. You may thank her one day when you discover exactly where she is going and also the answers to the questions you’ll find in there.” Cole indicated the chest.
Peter swallowed. Though his face warmed red, he departed from the room.
“Do you wish to take a guess who went from here to join the
Seekers?" Saffira said to Peter as they tread upon soft grass over a lonely hill near sunset the following day. They walked side by side beneath an orange- splashed sky. Ahead of them, on a sloping green hill, dipped in sunlight, was a small house; the home Peter had lived in until he was five years old and where Saffira and their mother had dwelled ever since then.
Upon the end of Apollyon’s revolt, Peter had invited his sister and mother to come and live within the castle, but their mother was still too attached to her little, secluded home. Saffira had refused to leave her, seeing how she was getting on in her years. She was still healthy in physical features, but her mind was slowing.
Peter glanced sideways at his sister who was just barely shorter than him and dressed almost like the farmers of Medulla. Her home was a small farm, and she had been laboring there all day. “Goodfor her,” Peter supposed. “Good that she at least was able to take a break from her whole-leader-of the realm responsibility.”
“Jezz and Ahab, former Gnosi residents now residing in Imber Fel.”
Peter’s brows rose. He had heard of the two. They had been present at his father’s death. They hadleft not ayear or two after, or so he had heard from his sister.
“They were friends with Riah,” Saffira said softly.
“Riah…” Peter’s thoughts echoed. He and Saffira had been close friends. He began to inquire after it, but Saffira was already changing the subject.
“You know, Peter, no one really understands why you were so upset with Cam for leaving. In a way, it may be safer out there for her.” Saffira waved her and hands and grinned. “In the great unknown.” Peter frowned and gave no response. Saffira blew out an exasperated sigh. “You two traipsed all over Mirabelle this past winter and avoided all kinds of things, and the moment she takes an excursion into a swamp you think you’re her father.”
“But her father encouraged it,” Peter said quietly.
Saffira’s face softened, yet her words remained firm. “Exactly.
Peter looked up then to find his sister gazing at him intently with a look of concern. He swallowed hard. The truth hung heavily in his chest. “I wish I could have gone,” he finally said in a tone barely audible.
“Oh,” Saffira replied. Her features slackened and shoulders slumped. “There it is.”
“I want to find out about our father, Saff. And Cam gets to be out there, finding things that I don’t seem to ever have the chance to do for myself.”
Saffira’s hand was on his shoulder.
Peter’s voice dropped further. “I’ve been waiting for years, Saff.”
“You’re...jealous?” Saffira asked carefully.
Peter shook his head. “I feel guilty.” He laughed then, the sound stuttering out of him. “I’ve been given all this.” He motioned toward the sprawling green land. “And part of me doesn’t want it.”
Saffira gazed where he motioned. She was quiet then, quieter than he was used to her being. “Even Tyron,”she started, “gets to leave.”
Peter nodded. “And his realm is in much stabler condition.”
They said no more, for they had reached home, a quaint cottage on the border of a small wood. Stray felines and chickens ran loose about the yard, creating a ruckus. Their mother, short and grinning slightly, emerged from the fire-lit interior and onto the front step.
“Peter,” she said warmly. The sound of his name emerging from his mother’s lips punctured him deeply. He had missed the sound of her voice all those years away.
“Why didn’t I visit?” He had been asking himself this question constantly since his return to Gnosi.
Peter returned her warm embrace, kissing her lightly on her sun-kissed brow. He followed the two women into the cottage, a building with a large front room and one back room where its two occupants slept. The front room was occupied by a fireplace, a fraying carpet, a table with four stools and two rocking chairs by the fire. A silky cat purred from its spot by the hearth.
Glancing around the cottage brought him back to the past, memories tumbling into his brain: His father bouncing him on his knee while his mother held baby Saffira; himself as a young boy tormenting an old dog. He swallowed the lump forming in this throat. “That’s why I didn’t visit. There is too much haunting me here.” Daniel Adriel was but a mere shadow in the corner.
While Saffira aided her mother in putting the finishing touches on his birthday meal, Peter roamed the length of the small house. He entered his mother’s room, the room that used to belong to her and his father. As Peter stood before the sunfilled window, he realized he was still holding the small chest he had brought. Thankfully, neither his mother nor Saffira had inquired about it.
Peter’s fingers began tingling as he continued to hold the chest. He had avoided its contents since leaving Cole the night before. He had not asked himself why, but he hadn’t slept. He glanced through the room toward the kitchen where his mother and sister were quietly laughing together.
“Now,” he thought, “Is as good a time as any.”
Peter slipped back out the front door and found a spot beneath a large oak tree. Ge pried the lid from the chest and was met with a bellow of dust. Once the dust had cleared and Peter had coughed it from his lungs, he peered into the chest which was lined with polished wood.
Most of the objects within were made of yellowed, wrinkly parchment. Some were maps, as Peter noticed. On several, he saw the mark of the dove drawn. He withdrew a map which was rolled around a slip of parchment. He examined it, seeing places he had never heard of and others that he had. He unrolled it’s accompanied paper and read what felt like was a history lesson.
The names were only somewhat familiar. Mingroth, Enboria...and then names of what must be people. Names like Perezians and Ferox. He glanced back at the map. Mingroth, a shadow drawn in the south of a continent. Enboria, a larger piece of land above it with woodlands between them.
He found another notation folded several ti
mes over. There was an image drawn above the writing. It appeared to be a headpiece woven of thorns and briars. Next, he reached for a smaller piece of parchment that appeared to have been recently unfolded and then folded again in the wrong way, bending the paper beyond its original creases.
His fingers fumbled with the paper, and once he had unfolded it, he narrowed his eyes to read the faded words.
“The future holds secrets we do not yet know. The shadows grow darker in the midst of what we believe to be prosperity. Being granted sight into the future by Elyon Himself, I have resolved that it is not yet time for the visions I have seen to be known by the general people. Elyon is still putting things in motion, forming the future by the present. If you are reading this, it probably means I am deceased or you are an intrusive person who should be punished for reading these words. For those who seek knowledge about the future, I gave all my writings to my entrusted companions. To Hana and Azariah, King and Queen of Nazeria, I gave the recounts of the history of Mingroth, Enboria, and my time spent there. My dearest Ilea, cursed though she is, committed my writings to memory, should they have become damaged and unreadable. She vanished before Hana, Az, Shael, and I could even leave Mingroth. May you have great fortune in your findings of the future and may Elyon bless your life.
-Daniel Adriel
The words about this Ilea person bounced around in Peter’s brain for several long moments. He reread the note, trying to make sense of it, but only came up with more questions. Finally, he thrust the note back into the trunk and slammed the lid shut.
“There was no need to dig up the past when it has nothing to do with whatI'm supposed to do,” Peter thought. But the thought didn’t sit well within him. His mind kept returning to the words he had just read, to his father, to Cam.
“My duty right now is to relocate the stolen magic and bring peace to Gnosi,” he reminded himself. “The Seekers’ quest is none of my concern. Should not be my concern.” Still part of him didn’t believe with his own words.
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