Agent of Prophecy

by M. A. Rothman

  She covered up quickly. “Where are my clothes?”

  The elf retrieved her clothes from a table beside him. As she dressed, her muscles aching, he explained.

  “You were attacked by a creature that we thought had long ago gone extinct. A corrupted dragon, or, as some of the history books call it, a “demon-kissed dragon.” Unlike the dragons of common stories, these dragons are unable to think logically. They are creatures of pain and suffering, and live only to eat, kill, and sow chaos. They rarely grow large, because inevitably their blind quest for destruction leads them into the path of a larger predator. But they need not size; even a hatchling such as the one you encountered is quite deadly. These dragons can attack with both claw and spittle. You were hit with some of the latter, and the creature’s poison seeped through your skin.”

  Had Arabelle not been the victim of this event, she wouldn’t have believed it. A real dragon?

  “So this… salve that’s all over me. Did it cure me?”

  The old elf looked somber. “I’m afraid it didn’t. The poison that infected you is still within you, trying to paralyze you, and no known cure exists. But I searched my library and discovered a way to delay the onset of the symptoms. The key is to ensure that the poison is never allowed to settle in one spot for too long. If it does, it will crystallize, and muscle paralysis will ensue. Once that happens, it’s only a matter of time before it impacts your ability to breathe, and then you will most certainly die.”

  Arabelle took in a shuddering gasp. “I’m going to die?”

  “Not if you don’t want to,” another voice proclaimed. A second elf walked into the room. She recognized him as the one who’d rescued her from the beast.

  “This is Castien,” said the older elf. “He’s the one who brought you to me. He is our master of the sword, and was tracking the beast. Unfortunately it got to you before he got to it.”

  “Thank you for saving my life,” Arabelle said. “For now,” she added. She still couldn’t believe she’d blithely just been given a death sentence. I’m going to die.

  Castien smiled and put his hands on Arabelle’s shoulders. “Not just for now. As long as you don’t stop moving for very long, you can survive as long as you wish.”

  “But that’s impossible. I have to sleep sometime, don’t I? I should be dead already!”

  “And you would be, except I’ve been moving your limbs regularly to prevent the onset of symptoms. Tell me: Do you want to live long enough to be useful to your people?”

  A million thoughts rushed through Arabelle’s head, but only one mattered. “Of course I want to live!”

  “Good. Because it’s not impossible. We have old records of elves who have survived for many decades with such a poison—by never sleeping for more than a couple of hours at a time. You’ll learn to sleep, wake up to flush your muscles with blood by vigorous movement, sleep some more, and repeat the process. Like all new things, it’ll be difficult at first, but you’ll do it. Because if you don’t, you’ll die. It’s as simple as that.”

  Arabelle looked down at her chest. “All that from being spat upon?”

  Castien walked to a table in the corner of the room and returned with a sword—or the remains of one. He held it up in front of her. “Do you see the pitting of the metal, and how it looks like portions of the blade have been melted?”

  She nodded.

  “This was the sword I used to kill that infernal beast. Its blood ate right through the metal. So you can imagine the power of the beast’s venom.”

  Arabelle rubbed at her ribs. “Okay. I need to stay active. I need to learn how to sleep for only two hours at a time. And I need to stay alive. For my father’s sake as well as Seder’s.”

  The elder elf’s eyes widened. “Did you say Seder?”

  “She probably worships him, Eglerion,” said Castien.

  “I don’t worship him,” Arabelle said. “In fact I’d never heard of Seder before he talked to me.”

  Now both of the elves looked at her with incredulous wide eyes.

  “Seder talked with you?” Eglerion said. “What did he say?”

  Arabelle related the conversation she’d had with the mysterious voice that called himself Seder. Eglerion’s eyes grew wider with every word.

  When she was done, he turned to Castien. “Castien, you must guide her in your special skills. I’ll clear this with Xinthian, but this young lady must be given a chance to serve out her obligations to Seder.”

  Arabelle was confused. “Xinthian?”

  Eglerion rested his hand on her shoulder. “Xinthian is the eldest of our people. In the absence of our queen, he is the authority in Eluanethra, our home.”

  Castien chuckled. “Don’t let Eglerion fool you. He is nearly as old as Xinthian and holds the same authority.”

  Eglerion shot a severe glance at the sword master before returning his attention to Arabelle. “For Seder to have spoken with you…” He shook his head. “In truth, I was not aware that he spoke with humans, so his message must be of great import. He is a spirit of great power and an agent of good for my people. I would trust his message implicitly.”

  It was left to Castien to escort Arabelle back to her caravan. As they walked through the misty forest, Arabelle had questions. Lots of them.

  “Why do your people hide from humans?”

  Castien gave her a long look. “I would have the name of the human I am sharing elven secrets with.”

  Arabelle felt herself blushing under the gaze of her rescuer. “Arabelle.”

  “Arabelle, nothing I share with you can be shared with others. Do we understand each other?”

  “I understand.”

  “You ask why we hide from humans. It’s because, while most humans are kind and well-meaning, there are those among you that we won’t tolerate.”

  “Do you mean Azazel?”

  Castien nodded. “Him, and those who follow him. Though that’s a topic I can’t discuss further; some secrets are not mine to give. Suffice it to say that the elven people and the humans are not enemies, but it’s best that we maintain distance between our two people. For now.”

  They neared the edge of the woods, and Castien stopped.

  “It’s approaching midday, and you can find your way from here. Meet me at midnight at this spot, and we’ll begin your training. And if you value your life, don’t go to sleep before then.”

  Arabelle looked up into Castien’s almond-shaped eyes and admired his close-cropped blond hair and characteristic elven ears. His appearance was simultaneously foreign and beautiful.

  She felt uncomfortably warm standing so close to him.

  Suddenly it struck her how much she owed this courageous elf, and the morning’s events came rushing back. She’d almost died. She was still going to die. It was all too much. Her throat tightened and tears flowed unbidden, and on an impulse she wrapped her arms around Castien’s waist, buried her face in his chest, and sobbed.

  She felt a comforting hand on her back. “Arabelle, I promise to arm you with the knowledge you need to survive. I can’t promise you it’ll be easy, but it’ll be a life—make of it what you can.”

  She choked back tears and looked up at her wondrous rescuer. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  Castien stepped back and put his hands firmly on her shoulders. “Don’t let my efforts go to waste by dying now. Your burden is heavy, but you have it in you to be something special for your people and possibly for all of Trimoria. Tonight, your lessons begin.”

  An Orphan’s Life

  When Grisham woke up in the darkness sometime after midnight, his first thought was: It’s officially my twelfth birthday.

  There was no one else who cared anymore, but Grisham still felt good that he’d made it to another birthday in this strange world.

  And he was blessed to be lying on a cot with a roof over his head—even if that roof was over the dormitory of a Cammorian orphanage packed with other cots and other orphans. Any time one of the hum
an children complained about the sleeping arrangements, he would recall a darker time, during the first year after his father’s death, when he wandered the streets of Cammoria and slept under piles of rat-infested garbage to prevent himself from freezing.

  He was lucky to have this cot. He vividly remembered the day he was first allowed into this dorm and given a thin blanket. He’d been shocked at his good fortune.

  He rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes. Twelve years old. Not bad, considering.

  Soon he fell into a restless dream-filled sleep, reliving the moment when his life had been turned upside down.

  Grisham’s people were known as the Ta’ah. The Ta’ah lived deep underground, where they were protected from the dangers of the world above. Mostly protected. Even deep within their tunnels and caves, hunting parties occasionally encountered a stray demon from the surface, or worse, one of the dreaded priestesses of Lilith.

  Still, it was much preferable to the aboveground, where almost all life had been eradicated, all signs of civilization destroyed. It had been centuries since their people had ventured into that cursed world. Why would they, when they could stay safe within their homes thanks to the magicks of the elders?

  But for Grisham, the safety of home was not to be. For the seers of their people had said that Grisham and his father were destined to carry a treaty across the great barrier to the Thariginian king.

  To Grisham, the thought was unimaginable. He couldn’t even begin to picture what the outside world might be like. The elders had assured him that aboveground life on the other side of the barrier was much safer than it was here, but Grisham was still wary and afraid.

  It was this mission that now brought Grisham and his father to a hidden chamber on the lowest level of the Ta’ah’s underground home. Only those with the permission of the elders were allowed on this high-security level.

  A mirror stood against one wall. Grisham had heard of this device only in ominous whispers, and was surprised to see that it looked like an ordinary mirror, five feet tall and six feet wide, within a metal frame. The only thing slightly remarkable about it was that the frame was marred by a series of indentations, each about the size of a fingernail.

  Two elders had accompanied them to the chamber. The elders withdrew glowing gems from their robes and placed them into chosen indentations on the metal frame. After a moment the glow in the gems faded, and tiny lights appeared on the frame, flickering on and off in a series that moved around the mirror, gradually moving faster and faster, as if a single light were moving in a circle around the frame.

  Grisham shivered, unable to hide his nervousness.

  Dad put his hand on Grisham’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ve been through such traveling devices before. There’s no pain.”

  The two elders stood at the sides of the traveling portal, eyes closed, and hummed. The flickering of the lights increased, and soon their rotation was moving at such a speed that the individual lights blurred into a solid circle of light framing the mirror. The circle pulsed, flaring brightly into the infrared, and the reflection in the mirror melted away, showing a scene from the world above.

  For the first time in his life, Grisham saw the sun.

  Dad gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Are you ready?”

  Grisham looked around the room one last time. The elders now swayed back and forth, chanting, their eyes still closed. Crackling energy swirled around the chamber, making his hair stand on end.

  He nodded. “I’m ready.”

  He and his father stepped forward together.

  Grisham felt only a moment of vertigo, and then he was there, his ears popping due to the change in pressure. A chill breeze met his face, and he breathed in the unknown smells of a new world. He looked behind him and saw no sign of the cave or the portal.

  He had actually traveled through the portal—and through the barrier.

  “We have no fear of demons here?” he asked.

  His father wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “No, my son. The Thariginian king protects us within his barrier. And now we proceed with our mission. Find the heir to the Thariginian king, and help him to reunify our two peoples.”

  Grisham would never have imagined that the citizenry of a protected land could present as great a danger to them as the demons from outside the barrier. But he soon came to learn that even here within the barrier, he and his father weren’t safe.

  Their troubles began when Grisham’s father lit a fire with a wave of his hand—a simple weave of magic. They had thought they were alone, sheltering in an abandoned barn, but it turned out the magic had been seen by a human hidden in the loft above. That human shouted in alarm, darted from his hiding spot, and ran outside. Grisham and his father were fortunate to have moved along before black-clad soldiers came to investigate.

  At the time, they were naïve about this new land and its restriction. They had no idea why the brief show of magic had caused such a stir. Only later did they understand why. It turned out that the land within the barrier was ruled with an iron fist by a wizard named Azazel. The people of Trimoria suffered under the yoke of his tyranny because he was the last remaining wizard within the barrier—having wiped every other practitioner of magic from existence—and he wouldn’t hesitate to incinerate an entire village to enforce his rules. The one they’d violated was that magic employed by anyone other than Azazel himself was banned—and those who practiced it were sentenced to death.

  So even the simple act of using magic to light a fire was enough to catch the attention of the soldiers known as Azazel’s enforcers.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t easy for them to hide among humans. To the people aboveground, who’d never seen a Ta’ah, they looked like dwarves—but dwarves rarely mingled with humans, which meant one adult dwarf and his child were easy to seek out.

  They managed to survive only due to Dad’s skills in weaving illusion. When they stood still, he could make them completely invisible, and when they moved, the same illusion could bend the light around them to make them appear to be several feet from their actual location. Many a crossbow bolt would have gone through them were it not for this trick of the light.

  Grisham and his father fled the populated areas, taking refuge in a cave in the mountains. Grisham much preferred the cave to the aboveground anyway. Looking at the clouds and the sky made him dizzy.

  How can these aboveworlders get used to a limitless ceiling?

  Still, Grisham waited near the entrance as he waited for his father to return from foraging for food. Dad had cast a weave of protection across the entrance before leaving, which would make Grisham invisible to any humans or creatures who might happen to pass by.

  But as Grisham would soon find out, the weave didn’t disguise his scent.

  A giant soldier emerged from the trees, stepping into the clearing just outside the cave. He barely resembled a normal man. He towered two feet taller than most men, and a pair of canines jutted from his lower jaw. He sniffed the air, then turned his yellow eyes in the direction of the cave.

  Grisham froze, his heart pounding in his ears.

  The giant sniffed again, growled, then started walking purposefully, menacingly toward the cave.

  Grisham didn’t know what to do. The cave was shallow; there was nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. He could only stay still and quiet and hope that somehow this human-like beast would turn aside.

  Then, from out of nowhere, a blast of electrical energy knocked the beast off his feet, and Dad’s voice shouted, “I warned you to stay away from me and my kin!”

  Grisham’s father stepped out from among the trees, advancing on the soldier. He threw another searing bolt that sent the soldier into spasms. Electricity arced up and down the soldier’s body, and he bellowed in agony.

  Dad pulled his arm back to send a finishing blast.

  But he never finished that weave, for at that moment he was engulfed in a torrent of flame.

  Grisham stifled a scream.

 
; Another human appeared, this one draped in a red robe, a smirk on his face, wisps of smoke rising from his fingertips. A dozen crossbow-wielding soldiers were at his back, all in the familiar black armor with the red insignia on their chests. Azazel and his enforcers.

  Grisham’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He wanted to run to his father, but could only look on in horror.

  The crackling flames subsided. His dad was still alive. But his beard had been burnt away and his skin was bright red and raw.

  “You survived!” the wizard said with a laugh. “Most impressive.” In his hands he accumulated a crackling black ball of energy. “I’ve never met an anvil-banger wizard before. Of course, where there’s one, there are bound to be others. Don’t worry. I guarantee you I’ll dig all of your dwarven brethren out of their holes one by one if I have to.”

  Dad kneeled, and Grisham sensed he was gathering his strength to send a killing blast. But then he paused, turned in Grisham’s direction, and yelled, “He who knows when to fight and when not to fight will be victorious!”

  He dove to the cave entrance, just in front of the weave of protection, and shot a furious blast of energy at the overhanging cliff wall.

  The mountain shuddered, and Grisham was thrown backwards. A crack opened in the cave wall behind him, and at the same moment, the cliff came tumbling down directly on his father—sealing off the entrance to the cave and crushing the life from the only family Grisham had.

  Grisham woke with a start, soaked with sweat despite the chill in the air.

  “You have that dream again?”

  It was Wat, who had the cot next to him. Wat was one of his few friends at the orphanage.

  Grisham nodded. “Unfortunately.”

  Wat sighed wistfully. “I wish I had memories of my parents. The matron is the closest thing I’ve ever had to an actual mother or father.”