Agent of Prophecy

by M. A. Rothman

  Maggie opened the chest at the foot of her bed and pulled out some boiled leather strips that had been woven into a belt with a tubular sheath attached. She proudly showed Arabelle how the belt wound around her waist and demonstrated how the sheath had an inner lining of silk to prevent the staff from getting stuck.

  “I’ve been saving these leather pieces and scraps of silk, and I was able to put my weaving skills to good use. So, what do you think?” She looked at Arabelle hopefully. “If I present him with something that nobody else has, he must look at me favorably, wouldn’t you think?”

  Arabelle had never spent much time studying the ways of attracting boys, but she couldn’t fault Maggie’s logic. She smiled. “I think so.”

  Maggie’s face lit up. “I’ll present it to him tomorrow, then!” She put the belt and sheath back in her chest. “Oh, but Princess, did you need something?”

  “Yes, and it’s very important.” She gestured for Maggie to sit on the bed, then sat cross-legged in front of her and held her confidante’s hands. “Maggie, you need to swear on your life and honor that you will tell nobody about this.”

  Maggie looked curious, but nodded. “I swear, Lady Arabelle. I would never betray your confidence.”

  “You cannot even tell my father, Maggie. You must take this secret to the grave. Lives are at stake. Do you understand?”

  Now her faithful handmaiden looked worried, but she nodded solemnly. “I swear upon all that I hold sacred that I will keep what is said tonight secret, and will never again mention it to any living soul.”

  Arabelle breathed a sigh of relief—and then told Maggie all about the events of this morning. The encounter with the poisonous dragon. The rescue by the elf. When Arabelle lifted her blouse to show her the blemishes on her ribs and the bruised and mottled skin that surrounded it, Maggie gasped. When she told Maggie about the poison, and what she would have to do to survive, Maggie burst into tears.

  My poor emotional friend.

  “I know it’s hard, Maggie, but I’m going to fight this, and I need your help. I’ve arranged to meet with one of the elves, who’ll teach me how to live with this poison. I’m to meet him tonight at midnight. But neither my father nor Tabor would ever allow me to travel to the woods alone.”

  “Lady, I’ll do what I can, but how can I possibly get you to the woods unseen?”

  “I can’t visit the elves unseen, but you can.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Arabelle grinned. “We’re going to exchange places. You will leave here wearing my robes, go to my tent, and sleep there tonight. I’ll stay here in your tent, and leave later in one of your traveling cloaks. Nobody will take notice of my comings and goings, because they’ll think I’m you.”

  Maggie shook her head. “But milady, I—I can’t. What if Tabor asks me a question on the way to the tent? I can’t exactly pretend to be a mute.”

  “Actually, you can.” Arabelle smiled again. “Call Tabor in right now. Tell him I have a sore throat and need a honeyed tea to soothe it.”

  Maggie smiled in understanding and called in the princess’s guard. Tabor poked his grizzled face into the tent and grunted when Maggie made the request. He turned to someone outside. “Ahmed, fetch a honeyed tea for the princess.”

  Maggie smiled. “Thank you, Tabor. I believe it would be best if Lady Arabelle doesn’t speak anymore tonight. After she enjoys her tea, can you please escort her back to her tent?”

  Tabor grunted again. Apparently he was a mute this evening too.

  When the tea was served and Tabor had withdrawn from the tent, Arabelle and Maggie exchanged clothes—and a conspiratorial look.

  “Congratulations, Maggie,” Arabelle whispered. “You’re now a mute princess.”

  Maggie smiled.

  After Maggie left with Tabor, Arabelle counted backwards from one thousand, allowing plenty of time in case anything were to go wrong. She was anxious as she finally stepped outside, but as she had hoped, nobody was watching. She was a handmaiden, not a princess, and was free to go where she pleased.

  Soon she was outside the caravan and crossing the fields that bordered the woods. She wasn’t sure exactly where on the edge of the forest she was going to meet Castien, and she didn’t remember exactly where she’d parted from the elven sword master. She would just have to walk along slowly and hope that he could find her.

  As she walked, her eyes followed a rabbit hopping through rows of corn growing in the field, passing by several voles burrowing under the ground. They—

  Wait. How was she seeing these creatures? The moon was covered by clouds, and it was very dark, yet the rabbit was clear as day to her eyes. And the voles…

  The voles were underground.

  Excitement coursed through her veins as she recalled her conversation with the mysterious Seder.

  When you awake, you will be able to locate any living creature you envision…

  Could this be what Seder meant?

  An idea struck her, and she closed her eyes and brought to mind an image of Castien. The distinct cut of his jaw, the elven shape of his ears. She didn’t see him like she had the animals, but as soon as she pictured him, she sensed him.

  She knew where he was.

  Arabelle began jogging in his direction, and the feeling of him became stronger. She ignored the outlines of woodland animals—they were everywhere, now that she was aware of them—and focused only on Castien. Soon it felt like she could almost hear the elf’s heartbeat.

  She stopped suddenly. Her sense told he was right here, but…

  She looked up. The smiling elf was sitting on a branch above her.

  “Good,” he said. “You have a strong woods sense. I’m quite surprised to find that in a human. Especially one as young as yourself.”

  A blush burned Arabelle’s cheeks, and she decided not to tell him about Seder’s gift.

  The elf hopped down from his branch. “Time for the most important lessons of your life. Follow me.”

  He led her through the woods, and with her newfound night vision, Arabelle was able to easily track his movements. He shined with a preternatural glow—a different hue than that of the animals. Still, following him was not easy. Whereas he lithely ducked and dodged the branches and thorns that reached out and grabbed at them, she staggered along clumsily and seemed to get her robe snagged on everything. By the time they stopped, Arabelle was sure she looked like a mess.

  Castien knelt near a bush and pointed.

  “Do you see this leaf shaped like an anvil? It’s hard to see the colors in the dark, but this is a green leaf with thin red filaments running through it. In the old language, these are called Tishkakh leaves; I’m not familiar with what humans call them. These leaves can be used to make medicinal teas that soothe bad dreams.”

  “Okay. So I should make this tea and drink it?”

  The elf shook his head. “No. Everything I’m showing you is a tool. For now, you must only learn what I’m telling you.”

  “But—”

  Castien held up his hand. “Let me complete my answer before you ask another question.”

  Arabelle waited silently.

  “Good,” said Castien. “You aren’t nearly as impatient as I feared. As for the leaf—you shouldn’t be drinking teas made from this. Dreamless sleep will not be useful for you. And although it is customarily used to soothe bad dreams, if you steep enough leaves into a tea and make it very strong, the person who drinks the tea will not remember anything that transpired in the last several hours. This is extremely useful when you need someone to forget a recent event—perhaps if you’ve been seen by someone you don’t want to be seen by.”

  “If that happens, how would I get them to drink a tea I brew? It seems impractical.”

  The elf chuckled. “Excellent question, young one. It is impractical. But this leaf can also be dried and powdered, making it very potent. A small inhalation of this powder will have the same effect as an entire cup of tea. More, and it can b
e a lethal weapon.”

  Arabelle suddenly understood. Castien wasn’t only teaching her how to survive the poison inside her; he was teaching her how to survive, period. She’d never had a reason to attack anyone in her life—but now… now her life was going to forever be very different. The thought made her stomach tie itself up in knots.

  “If you find yourself in a situation where you might use the powder,” Castien continued, “I strongly suggest that you wear a mask so as not to inhale it yourself. It will leave you unconscious for hours—which in your case, is a death sentence. You must always, always remember the poison that courses through your veins.”

  Arabelle nodded. “I’ll have Maggie create me a mask, just in case.”

  Castien’s expression turned stern. “This Maggie must not learn about anything I teach you.”

  “I understand.”

  Over the next two hours, the sword master led Arabelle through the woods, teaching her many lessons. He proved to be as talented an herbalist as he was an expert with weapons. She learned which barks could be used to help with pain, which plants could be chewed to help one stay awake—particularly useful for her condition—and which saps were deadly poisons and could be used to coat blades or arrows.

  Castien pulled a shimmering dagger from a sheath belted to his waist. “Have you used a dagger before?”

  “Only at mealtime.”

  Castien handed her the dagger hilt-first and smiled. “First rule: keep the pointy end away from you.”

  Arabelle gripped the leather-wrapped handle. She was surprised how comfortable it felt in her hand. A pale moonlight had filtered through the clouds and the forest canopy, making the blade shimmer with reflected light.

  The next hour was spent in learning about the proper use of a dagger—for both offense and defense. These lessons were more difficult than the herbalist lessons, but in some ways more satisfying. Holding the dagger made Arabelle feel powerful.

  At the end of the hour, Arabelle tried to give the dagger back to Castien, but he waved it away.

  “Consider it a gift from me to you. Keep it near you and practice all the time. I have taught you the basics, but you will need to practice, practice, practice. When you think you are doing well, practice some more. Your life should consist of sleeping, eating, and practicing.”

  Arabelle looked at the dagger dubiously. “Castien, I’m grateful for the lessons. But I thought you were going to teach me about not sleeping. I’ll never need a dagger or a tea if I die in my sleep.”

  Castien looked up at the sky. “There is time. We are at least three hours from sunrise. We shall start now.”

  “Great. Do I make a tea? Chew some bark? What do I do?”

  The elf laughed. “No. You practice. No plant is needed—only willpower and habit. As you go to sleep, you must concentrate on accessing your body’s internal time. If you know you must wake in an hour, you will wake. Now try it.”

  “What? Right now? Just… go to sleep and wake up?” A chill of fear rushed through Arabelle.

  Castien gave her a comforting smile. “I’ll watch and make sure nothing goes wrong. But try to convince yourself I’m not here. Tell your body that it must do what is necessary.”

  With that assurance, Arabelle lay on a bed of moss at the base of a tree, wrapped her robe tightly around her, and concentrated on the impossible task of falling asleep for exactly one hour.

  When Arabelle opened her eyes, it was still night, but she could tell that time had passed. The sounds of the forest had changed, and Castien was sitting on his heels watching her from a different position. That, plus her stiff neck, told her that she must have slept.

  “How long?” she asked.

  “You slept for ten minutes shy of one hour. Very good for someone who has never had to wake themselves before.”

  Arabelle felt the warm pride of accomplishment. “I did it!”

  Castien stood. “I knew you could. Now stand up and move around. You must ensure that the poison is circulated so it does not crystallize.”

  The sword master pushed her through various silent drills that had her thighs burning and her arms feeling like limp noodles. It was all the more difficult because she felt the fuzzy-headed exhaustion from lack of sleep.

  Will I be able to do this forever?

  Castien explained the schedule that she must follow. “Two hours of sleep followed immediately by one hour of vigorous practice. No exceptions. Over time you will learn that your body only truly requires four hours of sleep a night. Continue this, along with your blade practice, and not only will you be safe from the poison, you will hone yourself to a fine edge.”

  “You speak of me as if I were a weapon.”

  Castien smiled. “Young lady, you will be a weapon. One that, I suspect, many will underestimate.”

  Arabelle felt the dagger sheathed under her robe and smiled as she thought about what people would think if they knew what she’d done tonight.

  Castien looked to the horizon. “You need to get back to your home soon. Dawn’s approaching.”

  “Can I visit you the next time the caravan is in this area?”

  “You can seek, and I might let you find me again, young princess.” Castien pulled a worn leather-bound book from his tunic and handed it to her. “This guide lists uses for many common plants. Study this as well, for I doubt human scholars have written much on such things.”

  Impulsively, Arabelle hugged her elven tutor. “Thank you, Castien.”

  He returned the embrace and whispered something in a language she didn’t understand. Then he added, “Live well, young Arabelle. Prove your worth to yourself and fulfill your destiny.”

  The first rays of light were just breaking over the horizon as Arabelle slipped into Maggie’s tent. She took off her robe and climbed under the covers to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

  It seemed like only seconds later when Maggie shook her. “Lady! Lady! Wake up! You mustn’t sleep, remember?”

  Arabelle groaned, stretched her limbs, and felt a strange numbness in her extremities. That brought her wide awake in an instant. Her blood ran like ice as she realized what had almost happened. How could I have already been so careless?

  She quickly leapt from the bed, stomped her feet, and clenched and unclenched her fists to quicken her blood’s circulation.

  “How late is it?” she asked.

  “It is just after dawn. Oh, Lady, I was so worried about you. We never discussed how we were going to get me out of your tent without raising suspicion. I’m afraid I might have angered your guards.”

  “Quick,” Arabelle said. “Give me my robe and put on yours.”

  They quickly donned the proper garments, and just in time. Maggie was still adjusting her robe when the tent flap opened and Tabor stuck his head in.

  “Princess! Why didn’t you wait for an escort? We have talked about this.”

  “I’m sorry, Tabor, but I needed to talk to Maggie right away, and I knew since it was still early, it would take time for the escort to assemble.”

  Tabor grumbled and glared at Maggie, as if this were all her fault. The handmaiden looked at her feet, unable to meet his gaze.

  “You girls are up to something, and I do not like it. I will have to tell your father about this incident, Princess.” He pulled his head from the tent for only a moment before sticking it back in. “Your escort is waiting outside, Princess. Please try to behave.” And he disappeared once more.

  Arabelle turned to Maggie. “See? It’s all fine.”

  Maggie still looked uncertain. “Tabor seemed awfully angry.”

  “Tabor is always angry.” Arabelle waved dismissively. “Now I need to return to my tent. I have so much to do. Can you inform my father and my guard that I’m going to be staying in my tent today? Blame the ‘sore throat’ from last night if you like. But nothing too terrible; I don’t want visitors.”

  “Are you sure that’s all I can do, Lady?”

  “Oh, you can do something else
for me. I need a new outfit. Something that allows me to blend in—so no silk. Maybe black, or dark gray. Just… ordinary clothes. And I need to be able to exercise in it.”

  Maggie looked excited. “Of course! That sounds like a fun project.” She fingered her own robe, noticing the damage Arabelle had done to it last night. “It seems I will need to find you a durable cloth, as well.”

  “Oh, and one more thing. I need a mask—a tagelmust. It needn’t be made of the same material, but I want to be able to wrap it around my head and cover my mouth.”

  Maggie giggled. “Lady! Only your eyes will be visible. You will look like my grandmother.”

  “I have my reasons,” Arabelle replied with a smile.

  “I will get to work on it right away, milady.”

  Arabelle hugged her. “Thank you, Maggie. And Maggie… while we’re alone, you can just call me Arabelle.”

  Maggie pulled back and shook her head vigorously. “Absolutely not, Lady. It would be improper.”

  Her response saddened Arabelle, but she understood. The Imazighen had held her family as their unquestioned leaders for countless generations. Centuries ago, they had ruled a vast land that was now forbidden to them by a magical barrier, and though all that was left of that kingdom now was their vast caravan and its people, her family was still revered. It was her ancestors who made sure to keep their people together, their culture alive, through the centuries—even through the great demon wars. And it was said that one day her family would lead the Imazighen back to their lost lands.

  Arabelle gave Maggie another hug. “Regardless of what you call me, dear Maggie, know that I love you.”

  She turned and left the tent before Maggie could see the tears that blurred her vision.

  Arabelle spent the next ten hours in her tent, doing brutal courses of exercise interrupted by short stints of anxiety-ridden sleep. It was tiring—physically, mentally, and emotionally. She could hardly imagine doing this every day, and every night, of her life. And yet she had no other choice.

  It was late in the afternoon when she sank into the flower-scented hot water that Maggie had prepared. She’d gained a total of four more hours of sleep since this morning—which, according to Castien, was all she needed. And that was on top of the sleep she’d foolishly gotten in Maggie’s bed this morning. Yet still she was tired.