The Seer’s Sister: Prequel to The Magic Eaters Trilogy

by Carol Beth Anderson

  Trett replaced his flex in his pocket and walked to the wallscreen. “I read this article last week. Do you know why Merak isn’t the richest man in the world?” When neither sister responded, he continued, “It’s because he gives so much of his money away. In the past ten years, he’s given away more money than any other person has made. That Threed in the rec center was nothing compared to everything else he does.”

  He held his hand close to the screen and gestured so the article scrolled down. Then he stopped and zoomed in on a photo of the exterior of a hospital. Dozens of smiling staff stood in front. “Five years ago, every nation except Shevatin had virtually eradicated cancer. Now Shevatin’s cancer rates are as low as Vallinger’s, because Alvun Merak rebuilt their entire medical system. When the project was complete, he gave their government enough money to fund their new system forever on the income from his investment.”

  “What’s your point?” Rona asked.

  Ellin turned to her sister. “I think his point is that Alvun Merak might literally be the last person in the world to cause an apocalypse.”

  Rona grabbed her flexscreen, stood, and walked to Trett. “My turn.” She pointed at his chair.

  Trett shrugged and returned to his seat.

  Rona connected her own flex to the wallscreen, then collapsed her device, crumpled it up, and shoved it back in her pocket. “It doesn’t matter if Alvun Merak is the best man who ever lived,” she said. “My prophecies aren’t wrong. The best we can hope for is to gather information and stop him. I’m sure we all want to enjoy our last two months alive, but we can’t. We have to be selfless adults and do whatever we can to stop this.”

  By the end of her speech, Rona was breathing heavily and blinking hard. She gestured at the wallscreen, pulling up story after story about Merak and discarding them nearly as quickly, ignoring the others in the room.

  After watching this for a few minutes, Ellin caught Trett’s eye and patted the couch seat next to her. He moved there, and she whispered, “What do you think?”

  “She seems so sure,” he murmured.

  “She does.”

  “But—” Trett steepled his hands in front of his mouth, then folded and unfolded his fingers. Ellin didn’t interrupt. Finally, he said, “She seems . . . off. Manic, maybe.”

  Ellin nodded. Rona was usually so calm. When she displayed emotion, it was generally stunted. Now, however, she was motioning wildly at the screen as she reviewed dozens of articles like her life depended on it.

  Maybe it did. Maybe all their lives depended on it.

  Or maybe a sick part of Rona’s mind was lying to her.

  As she mulled over that possibility, tears sprang to Ellin’s eyes. Watching her sister lose her mind would be the lesser of two nightmares, but that wouldn’t make it easy. Ellin and Rona’s mom and dad hadn’t been on good terms with their own parents and siblings, and Rona was essentially Ellin’s only living relative. As fractious as their relationship was, Ellin didn’t want her sister to become unrecognizable. “I’m not ready for this,” Ellin murmured to Trett.

  “For what?”

  “To lose my sister. Let’s be honest, half the time we don’t even like each other—but I don’t want her to turn into someone else.”

  “Still, the alternative—” Trett let the thought hang.

  Ellin briefly squeezed her eyes shut. “I know.”

  Rona’s voice, too loud for the small room, interrupted them. “I found it! Come over here, both of you!”

  Ellin stood and approached the wallscreen. Trett followed. The screen displayed an article dated the day before from some newsorg Ellin had never heard of. She read the title out loud: “ ‘Therroan Government Approves Archeological Digging at Cellerin Mountain’.”

  Rona scrolled and pointed to a sentence several paragraphs down. She read, “Asked about the location’s significance, Alvun Merak said, ‘Merak Technologies is honored to fund research into the history of the Cellerin region. This is where human civilization on Anyari began, yet the mountain has never been explored by modern archeologists.’ ”

  Ellin waited for Rona to say more. When she didn’t, Ellin said, “I don’t get it.”

  Rona stepped close enough that Ellin wanted to pull away, but she didn’t. “I opened this article and got a strong nudge,” Rona said, her breath hot on Ellin’s face. “This project has something to do with the coming apocalypse.”

  Ellin looked at Trett, who was squinting at the screen. “An archeological dig?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Rona said, “and before you ask, no, I don’t know how it’s linked. But we have to go there, Ellin. With my gift and your brains, maybe we can stop them.” She glanced at Trett. “You’ll come too.”

  Ellin’s mouth felt suddenly dry. They didn’t even know if Rona’s visions could be trusted. This was all happening too fast. She blurted the first thing on her mind. “You want us to quit school?”

  Rona stared at her. “School? Seriously?”

  Ellin scrambled for a better argument. “Come on, Rona, let’s think through this. You know I want to help, but there’s no way Alvun Merak will listen to us if we just show up at his dig site on the other side of the world.”

  “Of course not,” Rona said. “Merak probably won’t even be there. He’s just funding it.”

  Ellin’s mind was racing, but she couldn’t seem to form any words.

  “You’re still thinking about school, aren’t you?” Rona asked, a hint of contempt in her voice.

  Ellin looked down, blinking away another batch of tears. “It’s just that . . . I’ve worked so hard. You want me to give up everything—” She closed her mouth and completed the thought silently: when I don’t even know if your prophecy is true.

  Rona threw her arms wide, backhanding Trett. She didn’t seem to notice, though he rubbed his arm. “You can finish school early. You’ve got plenty of credits! I know that doesn’t quite line up with your perfect goals, and if I could put off the end of the world until after you graduate, I would. But you saw the calendar. We’ve got two months. If we don’t succeed, nearly every student in your school will be dead. Do you want to be responsible for that?”

  Now that was taking it too far. Ellin’s fearful tears turned angry. She let go of Trett’s hand and finally expressed resentments she’d bottled up for years. “You’ve always controlled our family—you and your prophecies! Even before Mom and Dad died, we decided what restaurant to go to or where to go on vacation or what flowers to plant, all based on your visions. Isn’t it so convenient that when I’ve worked hard to take control of my own life, you’re derailing my plans?”

  “That’s ridiculous. I didn’t make this up, and I’m certainly not threatened by you.” Rona’s voice had turned flat again, but her forehead was compressed into wrinkles.

  Ellin knew that look, though she rarely saw it. She’d hurt her sister. Squeezing her eyes shut, Ellin took a long, deep breath and blew the air out. She opened her eyes, met Rona’s gaze, and spoke in the gentlest voice she could muster. “I’m not saying you did it on purpose. It’s just . . . well, you know what happens as seers get older.”

  As soon as she’d said the words, Ellin knew it was a mistake. Rona turned around and reached out a hand toward the wallscreen, gesturing to turn it off. Then she folded her arms and turned back to Ellin. Her nostrils flared, and a hint of pink colored the light brown skin on her cheeks and neck. “You think I’m losing my mind. At twenty-six years old.”

  Ellin responded with a helpless shrug.

  “Let’s all sit down.”

  Trett’s voice was a welcome distraction from the tension. Ellin turned and sat in the chair he’d occupied earlier. He and Rona took the couch.

  “You think I’m splicing,” Rona said.

  Ellin stared at her, confused.

  Rona rolled her eyes. “That’s the scientific term for when a seer loses their mind. You think that’s happening to me, don’t you?”

  Ellin didn’t answer, and wh
en she saw that Trett was looking at her expectantly, she turned her gaze to her lap.

  He sighed. “Of course we don’t want to think that.”

  “But you also don’t want to think the world is about to end.”

  Trett chuckled awkwardly. “Naturally.”

  “Tell me, how many books have you read on the history of the seers?” Rona asked. After a pause, she urged, “Both of you, answer me. How many?”

  “None,” Trett said.

  Ellin met her sister’s gaze. “One.”

  Rona’s back was perfectly straight, her muscles visibly tense. “I didn’t want a degree in accounting.”

  Ellin cocked her head, blinking. “You didn’t?”

  “No. I wanted to study the history of seers. Mom and Dad thought it would raise suspicion since it’s not a common area of study these days. I listened to them and chose a practical, boring field instead. But ever since I was twelve years old, I’ve sought out everything I could find on the history of my people. I’ve read one hundred twenty-three books on the history of seers and over five times that many articles.”

  “Whoa,” was all Ellin could think to respond.

  “The youngest seer in recorded history to splice was fifty-four years old.”

  Ellin leaned forward, her voice earnest. “Rona, if there were any other evidence to support your prophecy, I’d quit school right now and go with you to stop it.”

  “And since there’s not,” Rona said, “you’ll continue with your merry life and hope my mind doesn’t decompose too fast, right?”

  Ellin swallowed but didn’t answer.

  “You’re acting like a child who doesn’t want to hear the truth.” Rona stood.

  Ellin didn’t say a word as she watched her sister march to her bedroom.

  Rona paced in her room, kicking small piles of discarded, dirty clothes, trying unsuccessfully to tamp down her anger.

  She thinks I’m insane.

  Rona would never forget the day when she was twelve years old, eating a sandwich at the kitchen table, and her mother sat down and explained that seers eventually lost their minds. Every day since then, Rona had dreaded succumbing to such a fate. She’d kept her abilities secret, hoping, as her parents did, that the lack of public pressure would preserve her sanity.

  Still . . . she knew how splicing worked. The first sign would be false prophecies.

  Since Wednesday, all her visions and premonitions had been related to the apocalypse. How was she supposed to know if they were valid when they were all linked to an event two months away?

  Rona sat on her bed and bowed her head, grasping her forehead hard with both hands. She cursed under her breath, and when that didn’t give her any relief or clarity, she released her head, reached into her pocket, and pulled her flex out. She firmed it with a harder pinch than was necessary, then pulled up the message thread between her and Kizha. She typed,

  I’m ready to tell you the vision.

  Her finger hovered over the Send icon.

  Heat flooded her entire body, along with a nudge so strong, she couldn’t ignore it. If I send this, Kizha will come here. I can’t let her do that.

  The only people who were meant to try to save the world were Ellin, Trett, and Rona. The perfect little couple and the person they thought was crazy.

  What if I really am losing it, and I’m messing up all our lives for nothing?

  “No!” Rona said aloud. She refused to believe she was splicing in her twenties; that would be unprecedented. My sister’s afraid of dying. Probably even more afraid of letting go of her goals. She’s in denial. That’s all.

  Breathing hard, Rona again moved her finger toward Send.

  Her whole hand cramped as the premonition intensified. Kizha was meant to help, but only from afar. She couldn’t know the truth.

  Rona collapsed her flex, tossed it on her desk, and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She almost hoped she was splicing. It would be better than dealing with reality.

  7

  SATURDAY, QUARI 6, 6293

  -63 DAYS

  Alvun Merak couldn’t stop smiling.

  He’d spent the last two days celebrating the opening of a new hospital wing. Thanks to a sizable donation from his foundation, cancer patients would be treated with the newest technology in a comfortable, home-like environment. The new treatment eradicated most cancers in three days, twice as fast as older regimens. Merak loved nothing more than funding hope.

  His pilot landed the glider on the roof of Merak’s estate, situating the vehicle over the lift pod port. A round portion of the glider floor slid to the side, and the lift pod rose up. Merak stepped in and sat in the single seat.

  With a whispery whoosh, the pod dropped through the roof, depositing him in the corner of the bedroom he shared with his wife, Arisa, on the second floor of their sprawling residence. He stepped out and glanced around the large room. Not seeing Arisa, he walked through the bathroom and her closet. No luck. He reentered the bedroom and strode to the door leading to her study. His quiet knock went unanswered.

  Merak frowned. He liked to greet Arisa when he got home from a trip, especially when he was gone overnight. She was usually waiting for him. He’d emmed her on his way in, but she hadn’t responded.

  Of course. There was one place she didn’t take her flex. Merak exited into the hallway, greeted a young man who was repairing a torn lightfilm in the ceiling, and carefully opened the door across from his bedroom.

  Arisa sat in a simple chair in the middle of the spacious room, her back to Merak. He entered quietly and lowered himself into a chair at the edge of the room. Arisa had probably heard his steps over the soft, soothing music, but she didn’t move.

  Despite its lack of windows, the chapel was the brightest room in the house. They’d had lightfilm installed not just in the ceiling but in all the walls and even the door. It provided an all-encompassing, white, comforting light.

  Merak watched his wife. Her back was straight, her head bowed. Determined to explore who God was, she was one of the most devoted Rimorians he’d ever met.

  Merak respected her dedication, though he’d long ago let go of his own need to believe in an unseen, unknowable power. He knew religion was an important part of human tradition. Anyari’s colonists, after all, had arrived on the planet with various spiritual beliefs. Perhaps if he knew more about the specifics of those beliefs, he’d feel qualified to choose one.

  That sort of knowledge, however, was unattainable. Some tragedy had struck the colonists, killing most of them and robbing them of their records and whatever technology had gotten them to Anyari. The ones who’d survived had written a few things down, scrawled on cave walls or etched into rock. They’d also kept some history alive through oral tradition. As time passed, however, the stories got more and more muddled.

  After several generations, Anyarians had learned to use animal skins to make parchment. They’d written down the religious tales they’d grown up hearing, but the narratives were confusing and contradictory. On top of that, many questioned whether the spiritual history of another planet was still relevant to their new civilization on Anyari.

  Through the centuries, countless different faiths developed, many of them based on strange conglomerations of Earth’s ancient religious tales. People debated over what was true and even waged wars in the names of their gods.

  Then, five thousand years ago, a man named Rimor had developed a new faith. He adopted two common elements of many ancient Earth religions—a belief in one God and the practice of communicating with this God through prayer. Beyond those principles, he didn’t claim to know which Earth stories were true and which weren’t. The Rimorian religion was built on a simple commitment to explore and pursue the divine. In time, it became the most dominant belief system on Anyari.

  Through the years, many Rimorian emissaries had claimed to hear from God. They’d recorded their supposed messages, and fifteen hundred years earlier, a council had gathered the ones they considered
most important, compiling them into The Sacrex, a book of scripture. Merak had only managed to read the beginning of it.

  Arisa had read the book many times. She even claimed to sense God’s voice, though she never called herself an emissary. A few official emissaries still existed, though the church never considered adding their revelations into The Sacrex until they died.

  Merak didn’t think he’d ever return to his mother’s simplistic Rimorian beliefs, nor would he adopt Arisa’s more nuanced faith. Still, he had to admit that this bright room, filled with quiet, exquisite music, soothed his racing mind.

  Just as he was reflecting that he’d had about enough soothing for the day, Arisa’s voice rose above the music, ending her otherwise silent prayer with three words: “May it be.”

  She stood, and Merak followed suit. Arisa faced him. She was wearing a pendant in the shape of a Rimstar, an eight-pointed star with teardrop-shaped loops extending off each point. It was the primary symbol of the Rimorian faith. She appeared calm and at peace, but her eyes were bloodshot, her green irises looking even brighter than usual in contrast.

  Twenty years ago, she’d been one of the first people to colorize her eyes. At first, she’d been uncomfortable with the attention she attracted. People were only used to seeing brown eyes, with an occasional hazel pair thrown in the mix. These days, colorization was as inexpensive as a haircut, but Merak had never altered his medium-brown eyes and didn’t plan to.

  “Why were you crying?” he asked Arisa.

  Her smile was warm but tired. “Same as usual. I’m fine now. Welcome home.” She wrapped her long arms around his neck and kissed him. “Are you headed into the office today?”

  “In a little while. I’ll stop at the kids’ rooms first.”