“Correct me if I am wrong,” Zenos observed, as he set his pipe aside in a little stone bowl. Wisps of fragrant smoke continued to waft from the little dragon’s mouth. “But ‘not a lot more’ sounds somewhat greater than ‘nothing more’.”
“Well, yes, it is. I guess.” My words were a trifle irritable. “What little else I gleaned sounded more like wishful thinking more than anything else. And it made little sense.”
The soothsayer stroked his beard. “Wishful thinking that makes little sense sounds like something else to this old mind.”
“What’s that?”
“Why, prophecy, of course! And when I look at prophecy…”
“You’re never wrong,” I filled in. “Yes, I know. But you didn’t look at this, I did.”
“That is a good point,” he said, considering. “So, what did you glean from the Codex?”
“I found one sign that repeated several times towards the last quarter of the manuscript. According to your texts, it could mean one of three things. ‘Change’ was one. ‘Enlightenment’ was another.”
“And the third?”
I gave Zenos a look. “The third was ‘Reckoning’.”
The elderly soothsayer gave another thoughtful stroke of his beard in response. “That is possibly troublesome. It is impossible to know which of the three applies without context.”
“There was one other clue,” I said hesitantly. “I may have gotten it wrong, but next to some of those signs was a repeated phrase. ‘The great mother shall return to us’.”
He gave a rueful sigh. “That is unhelpful.”
“Is it? I mean, there are the phoenix. Their origin story refers to the ‘Hearts of the Mother’s Body’ in their creation.”
“Which would mean something, if the writers of the Codex were members of the Seraphine,” Zenos pointed out. “Is there evidence of that? What if the ones who composed the Codex were the owls, the Hoohan? Their position of Albess, while not uniformly held by females, is also called ‘The Mother of Us All’ on occasion.”
“In which case, you’re likely right. If it’s prophecy, then we’ve got nothing to go on. Or too many ways to go, which is for all intents and purposes the same thing.” I sighed irritably. “It’s a good thing that you have Aki for an acolyte, not me. This entire field of yours is maddening. I wish I still had nothing to do with it.”
“Still?” The soothsayer sat back and studied me. “You refer to your so-called ‘immunity’ to prophecy, to the fact that you are a ‘Hero’ to Albess Thea.”
I looked up, speechless for a moment. “I…how did you know?”
“I see many of the same signs, the same portents, as the Albess does. More than once, I have dismissed her readings as amateurish. I was wrong, as Albess Thea is no amateur. She merely views things quite differently. That is a failing of our kind, you know. Humans. We expect other species to view things the exact same way, when they do not.”
I thought on that for a moment and had to agree. My experiences with the phoenix and the ethereal pooka alone confirmed that some creatures had radically different ways of experiencing the universe.
But that wasn’t what bothered me right then. My throat felt dry as I forced myself to ask my next question.
“Do you think she was…wrong? About my being a Hero? Maybe it was wrong for her to have Galen bring me here to your world.”
Zenos squinted at me for a couple long, long moments. He picked up his pipe and gave it a puff. “I don’t think you were a ‘wrong’ choice, Dame Chrissie. It just surprised me, that is all.”
That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. Or dreading. But it still puzzled me.
“Surprised you? How?”
“The signs pointed to the need for a Hero. For someone who was not subject to prophecy, at least until chosen and put in place. And then, that someone could ‘throw sand in the mill’, so to speak.”
“Where I come from, they’d say that you needed someone who could ‘gum up the works’.”
“Indeed! But that is key: where you come from. That is what surprised me. I expected the Albess to have our court wizard summon a knight or noble from Andeluvia. After all, how much could someone from elsewhere understand the circumstances, the people, and the culture enough to solve the murder of the Good King Benedict?”
His words cast a completely new light on our first encounters. Zenos had been cold and dismissive of me when I’d first arrived in Andeluvia. Apparently, however, it hadn’t been because he disliked me personally. He’d simply thought I wouldn’t be able to solve the crime because everything here was alien to me.
“I’m glad that I proved you wrong,” I said, with a sort of half-grin. But Zenos surprised me once again.
“Did you?” I must have looked hurt. “Not about your competence, Dame Chrissie. You are a marvel. I meant that I may have been right about needing someone from Andeluvia.”
“But… I’m not from Andeluvia, Master Seer.”
“No, you aren’t. But the more I look at you, the more I am convinced of something.”
“What’s that?”
“That you have been touched by our land before. And that may have made all the difference.”
I considered that for a moment. “Maybe you’re right. The reports I’ve been giving to King Fitzwilliam seem to have worked their way into court gossip. You must know about my encounter with a fayleene, back when I was seven.”
“Indeed I do. And yet, I believe there is something more. Something else from our land touched you before you ever came here in person. And I believe that whatever it was…may still figure into the future that is to come.”
Chapter Seven
I sat back, absorbing what Zenos said.
“Master Seer, I think I need an answer about that. The future, I mean.”
He nodded, as if expecting this. “I shall give you an answer, if I can.”
“Have I…that is, did I prevent disaster for this land? Did I stop the ‘doom’ you predicted? The one about the downfall of this kingdom and the ruin of all Andeluvia?”
Zenos rubbed his lips with one bony finger in thought. “In my experience, many come to a soothsayer asking about the future when they do not wish to know it at all. They are really asking one of several different questions. They want to know if they did the right thing. Sometimes, they want to be free of guilt for something they did – or did not – undertake. They seek comfort and certainty in their answer. Would you not prefer to be comforted? Prophecy is often a terrible thing to behold.”
I swallowed, hard. “I really want to know.”
“As I expected. I really am never wrong, you know.”
“I’ve never doubted you yet,” I admitted, with a rueful smile.
“Based on the visions in my dreams, I would say ‘no’, Dame Chrissie. You have not altered the doom which lies upon this land. You have only postponed it.”
That admission rocked me. I got out of my chair and started to pace. It was a nervous habit, but I couldn’t shake it. Frustration bubbled up inside my chest like froth, threatening to choke me.
“All my efforts, all the death and conflict this land has endured over the last year!” I fumed. “Has it all been for nothing? Have I completely failed?”
Zenos took another puff on his pipe before setting it back in the bowl. “Dame Chrissie, you know little about prophecy. Nor how hard it is to change. The future is hard, unflinching, and merciless. Pushing the date of our doom back by a month, a week, or even a day…that is a huge accomplishment.”
The man’s words sent a chill scurrying down my back.
The future is hard, unflinching, and merciless.
“I think of the future like the trajectory of a sparrow in flight,” he continued. “It can be tranquil, or purposeful, or seemingly random. Until it meets an event that will permanently alter what looks like a set course. Say, an attack by a hawk.
“At that point, depending on what decisions are made by the sparrow – and the hawk, mind
you! – the trajectory of the sparrow will forever be changed. It may return home to raise its chicks, which then grow up and become adult sparrows in their own right.”
I nodded, understanding. One event unfolding could spawn other, related events. My solving Benedict’s murder had helped restore Fitzwilliam’s reign. Fitzwilliam’s reign had led to my ascent to Dame-hood. My being a Dame had led to other events, and so on.
“On the other hand, the sparrow may fall to the hawk,” Zenos went on. “In such a case, the poor bird is eaten, and its chicks either never come to be, or they wither away from starvation. In other words, an entire line of events is eliminated.”
“You’re right,” I finally said. “That’s not a reassuring way to put it. It seems so…final.”
“Destiny has as much ‘compassion’ or ‘mercy’ as a thunderstorm, an earthquake, or an ocean tide. Like any force of nature, it is immovable without great effort and greater magic. That’s why I think you’ve been touched by our world in your past. You seem to have an outsized influence on things. That is probably why you’ve shown up in both of my near-dreams about the future.”
For a second, that cheesy old pick-up line flashed through my head: Hey, are you tired? Because you’ve been running through my mind all day.
But what Zenos called a ‘near-dream’ was no laughing matter. It was what he meant by a ‘prophetic dream’. And I’d learned that they were incredibly valuable clues.
I stopped pacing. “I want to hear them.”
Zenos turned, half-squinting in the sunlight coming through the open window. “The first dream was troubling. Death was in the air. I was in a large open space, but I was being pushed and shoved about in all directions.”
“Were you in a fight of some kind?”
“Not a fight, exactly. There was fighting going on, yes, but not where I was. Rather, it felt like I was in the middle of a rowdy crowd. Everyone was shouting all together at a small group of people in front of us.” He inhaled sharply. “Then, death came. It came on a stiff wind, bending, breaking, and biting all in its way. And there you were, standing proudly, as if at the prow of a great ship. You stood against the wind, and...”
Zenos gazed at me, slightly embarrassed. “And that is all I remember. The second dream is even stranger, I fear. I saw you in front of the King’s palace. You appeared to be looking for something. And then, right before my eyes, the palace turned into a dragon.”
I put my hands on the back of my chair. “Wait, what? You mean, it literally transformed into a dragon? Like someone cast a spell on it?”
“No, not like that.” The soothsayer paused as he groped for the right words. “It is like a puzzle-view picture one can buy from the mummers at a street fair. Their pictures are always jumbles at first. Yet once your mind sees a face in the picture, it cannot un-see it. I can’t say more than that. Perhaps it is only my aged mind at play.”
“Perhaps, but I’ve learned to respect those visions of yours.”
He looked back at me suddenly, intently. “And what of you, Dame Chrissie? I know that you get the near-dreams as well. What have you seen in your mind’s eye?”
“Um…” I picked at a rough spot on the chair’s finish for a moment. Zenos remained intent on my answer, so I reluctantly replied. “Since the battle at the Oxine, I’ve had two vivid dreams.”
“Two?” The old man asked, delighted. “I knew it! You are a seer in the making!”
“I hope not!” I blurted out, but Zenos didn’t appear to take offense. “Besides, one of them didn’t even feel like a ‘near-dream’, as you put it.”
“It is still worth examining,” he insisted. “Let us hear it.”
“I dreamt that I was a little girl again. I’m riding a fantastic purple beast through the dark and into the sunrise. It’s got fur, feathers, hooves, and a single, fantastic antler.”
“Do you think it means anything?”
“How did you just put it, Zenos? The ‘mind at play’? That’s what was going on. The beast I rode…it’s a mix of my three closest friends. Galen, Shaw, and Liam are carrying me through the darkness and into the light.”
“What of the other? The one you felt truly was a near-dream, a glimpse of a possible future?”
I closed my eyes to bring the vision into focus. “For a couple of nights in a row I’ve dreamt the same thing. I wake up from a nap on a warm, sandy beach. I can smell the toasted coconut scent of suntan lotion. And I’m wearing a ridiculously skimpy bikini.”
“I see,” Zenos intoned, with a raised eyebrow. “Tell me more about this ‘bikini’.”
Sheesh. No matter how old they were, men were still men.
“It’s a small article of clothing. But there’s a lot of my skin exposed, and what skin I see is a dark bronze. That tells me I’ve been out tanning for a while.”
“Tanning? As in working leather?”
“Ah…no. In my world, ‘tanning’ also means something else. It’s where people go out in the sun and allow their skin to brown.”
“Interesting. Here in Andeluvia, that is either called ‘sowing the fields’ or ‘bringing in the harvest’.”
“Well, it’s why I doubt that this is a preview of the future. My brain is just telling me ‘I need a vacation’.” I sighed. “I don’t know how you can do this, Master Seer. Being aware that I can affect prophecy hasn’t made my life any easier. I feel like the weight of an entire world is bearing down on me. Like I’m the only one who will decide if the sparrow gets eaten, or if she gets home to raise her chicks. I’m all alone in this, and it’s crushing.”
Zenos got up and came around the table to rest a hand on my shoulder. His eyes crinkled kindly. “It is normal for one so connected with destiny to feel close to despair. But take comfort, Dame Chrissie. You remember the fantastic purple beast you rode in your first dream? That tells me you are never quite as alone as you think.”
The city bell rang eight times in the distance. Each peal seemed magnified by the half-open window. By the time the eighth tone sounded, my pulse had taken a leap.
It was eight in the morning.
“I’m supposed to attend the Royal Court today!” I took Zenos’ hand and shook it. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave, Master Seer.”
“Be at ease,” he assured me. “You are welcome any time, Dame Chrissie.”
I set off for the exit at a near run. If I had any talent at seeing the future, I wish that it would come in handy at times like these. But until that day came, it didn’t matter what any dream or near-dream foretold.
I knew that I was on my own.
Chapter Eight
It’s never a good feeling to be late to one of your boss’ meetings.
But it’s even worse when you’ve got people openly worried about how late you are.
The capital city of Fitzwilliam’s kingdom was only about as big as a mid-sized town back in rural Illinois. It still took me a while to make my way back, all while avoiding getting hit by loaded wagons or the errant knight on a mission. By the time I reached the inner courtyard the Royal Court had been in session for at least twenty minutes.
A small boy dressed in robin’s egg blue ran towards me across the brown-green expanse of lawn. Percival, my self-appointed page, came up to me, breathing as hard as I was. Though I think in his case it was less from exertion and more from anxiety.
“Dame Chrissie!” he gasped. “The King’s…court…started already. You’re late!”
“Yeah,” I grumped, as I kept moving across the courtyard. “Tell me something that I don’t know.”
“Um…maybe you don’t know what they’re discussing?”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s just an expression. There’s no way I would realistically know.”
“Oh. Well, if you’re curious, one of the main topics of discussion this morning…involved you. I think it was regarding the Spring Tournament.”
I should have expected that, I thought. Of course I would be the ‘topic du jour’ again, right when
I’m not present.
We went in through the nearest entrance and made it to the throne room’s antechamber. The room was empty right now, and it had something I needed. So, I picked that spot to stop for a moment.
“Dame Chrissie,” Percival fretted, “aren’t you going to attend?”
“In a minute,” I said, as I walked around one of the antechamber’s support pillars.
Less than a week ago, I’d spotted where someone had hung a small mirror in a half-hidden nook. If I had to guess, it was probably put in place by the royal pages as a way to check their appearance before entering to make an announcement before the court. It was coming in handy now.
Percival watched as I pulled a brush from one of my jacket pockets and did my best to smooth down the worst of my windblown hair. He looked puzzled.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand, Dame Chrissie.”
“Look, I’m late as it is. Whether I’m twenty-one or twenty-two minutes late isn’t really going to matter. If I’m showing up late, then at least I want to look composed when I arrive.”
In a small voice, Percival asked, “Do you want me to announce your arrival when you enter, then?”
“Um, no,” I said, as I finished up. I didn’t exactly look well-coiffed, but at least my hair didn’t appear as if it had been through a wind tunnel. “I’d rather try and slip in while someone else is complaining about their taxes.”
He bowed in response as I stepped away from the mirror. I took a breath, as if I were about to dive into an ice-cold swimming pool. Percival then opened the door to admit me into the throne room. I walked in, doing my best to look nonchalant and yet completely beneath notice.
Of course, that didn’t work all that well.
Sunlight streaming through the stained glass turned the throne room a chilly blue. The cool-colored shading helped hide the dings and scratches that still marred the dark wooden tables, chairs, and even the King’s throne itself.
Even my slow walking pace made the usual all-too-loud footfalls crossing the marble floor. Sir Ivor was busy speaking, and I thought his words would drown out any sound I made. But everyone else’s eyes swiveled to watch me as I made my way across the room.
Trafficking in Demons Page 4
