The Branded Rose Prophecy

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “But that is exactly why the auras are your undoing.”

  Was Sindri aware that he was referring to the Kine in the second person? Asher studied him, wondering.

  “The auras are power itself,” Sindri continued, apparently oblivious to the consternation he was creating around the table. “Power is the basic commodity of politics. By denying the use of the auras, you have removed yourselves from that which gives you the control you seek.”

  It was almost heresy, yet Sindri was speaking the words as calmly as if he were explaining the making of mead. Asher glanced along the length of the table, tallying reactions. Sindri had their full attention, and no one seemed to be finding this as difficult to swallow as he was.

  Stefan spoke, his voice ringing around the room. “Are you saying that the discipline of laun itself has weakened us?”

  Sindri spread his hands, the chains making an almost musical sound. “You failed to understand the nature of the auras. By denying the Kine the use of them, you have weakened the Kine unnecessarily.”

  “Even though the use of the auras was prohibited in the sixth century?” Stefan asked politely. Curiously.

  “Explain their nature,” Roar demanded. “Why is not using auras dangerous to us?”

  Sindri seemed to almost roll his eyes. Asher sensed his impatience, but he spoke in the same measured tones that everyone around the table was using. “Would you expect a fully licensed electrical engineer to be able to teach you the nature of electrical currents in a sentence or two?”

  Roar smiled. It was a predatory expression. Asher knew that expression. Roar was as repulsed by Sindri as he was. It let him relax by a degree or two. He wasn’t the only one who found this hearing completely ridiculous.

  Sindri spread his hands again. “Have any of you noticed what is happening among humans lately?”

  Silence was his answer.

  “Every week, almost every day, another human with psychic talent is discovered, or declares themselves.”

  “Charlatans and con men,” someone muttered.

  “Humans have had psychics and mediums peddling their talents forever,” Stefan pointed out, in a more reasonable tone.

  “A Christian bishop?” Sindri asked, a dry edge to his tone. “The Republican senator in the United States who fell down and began to prophesy on the House floor? These are not small people looking for fame and fortune. They are public figures with their lives, their fame and their finances already established. But they are not the only ones discovering they have supernatural abilities. Search the Internet and you will find that psychic talent is appearing everywhere. Humans are finding they can prophesy and foretell, read the future in their neighbors’ palms, read their co-workers’ thoughts, and levitate garden tools. The smallest, most insignificant human and the most famous human…the auras are not particular about where they channel themselves. Anyone who is vulnerable to their power is beginning to feel their influence.”

  He paused, his gaze flickering around the room as he assessed the impact of what he was saying upon his audience. Apparently, he was happy with the uneasiness he was spreading, for he continued. “When the Herliefr chose to not use auras in 535, the bivrost was collapsed and you cut yourself off from a power as natural as the electricity the humans cannot live without. But the auras are not electricity.”

  Roar rolled his eyes. “Get to the point,” he growled.

  “I am, indeed, drawing close to my point,” Sindri assured him, with a silky tone. “The basic fact you forgot, when you established laun, is that the auras don’t give their power. Electricity will race along whatever channel it is provided, even through humans and into the earth itself. It runs, it disperses, it showers everyone with its power. But the auras…they are passive conduits that contain whatever power they have in a quiescent state, until someone with a talent for tapping into them draws on their power. That is why, despite laun, your portals have continued to maintain themselves throughout the centuries. Once they were established, they simply remained as they were.”

  Eira sighed. “You presume to teach us lessons we learned long ago.”

  “I merely remind you of what might have been forgotten,” Sindri replied gravely.

  Asher sat forward. “If the auras are quiescent and humans are drawing upon them more frequently, now, then won’t the auras be drained?”

  Sindri smiled. “Are you familiar with the human term ‘feedback loop’?”

  Asher stared at him. He did know the term and he understood exactly what Sindri was saying, now. He couldn’t help glancing at Roar to see if he grasped the implications. Roar was frowning, his gaze on Sindri.

  “The auras are biofeedback loops,” Asher told Roar and anyone who was listening. “The more humans, Herleifr, anyone taps them for their power, the more powerful they become. They draw their power from those who use them. That’s why not using them diminishes them. They have no power source to draw from if they are abandoned.”

  Sindri’s small smile didn’t shift. He gave Asher a shallow bow. “You now understand.”

  “Is that why humans are suddenly discovering talents they didn’t know they had?” someone asked.

  “They had the talent, always,” Sindri said. “But the auras have been weakened for centuries, so humans stayed ignorant of their natural abilities. When the bivrost opened, the Alfar descended upon Midgard. They have no reticence about using the auras as they should be used, and the auras awoke and grew.”

  Silence filled the room as they all stared at him. Everyone got it now. Everyone understood.

  Sindri’s smile broadened. “Now the humans are finding that their Tarot cards really do speak to them. Their tea leaves do, too. Divination is particularly common, which makes me wonder if humans are not somehow linked to the Vanir.”

  There was another shuffle and shift of bodies at the table. Sindri’s observations would feel almost blasphemous to some of them.

  “Of course, this is of benefit to the Herleifr, too,” Sindri continued. “The auras were dying. That is why swords would sometimes not appear upon command and why portals would mysteriously become inoperable. It is why you have all believed there have been no great Valkyrie since the Descent, because their healing powers seem to have diminished and become chancy, but it was merely the strength of the auras failing them. The Valkyrie have remained as powerful as they have always been and perhaps have grown stronger thanks to the challenges they have faced on Midgard.” His gaze flickered toward Eira.

  Eira cleared her throat. “How, then, were you able to open the bivrost if the auras have been essentially dead for centuries?”

  Sindri’s smile shimmered. Asher realized with some amusement that Sindri was trying to look modest. The little man simpered. “There is natural energy in many things. Humans have learned to tap into geothermal energy, the flow of great rivers, even the separation of nuclei, to generate their electricity. The power that drives auras is also natural. The alignment of planets, the change of seasons, the psychic energy of crowds, the focused concentration and emotions at a popular concert…these are all generators of power that the auras can use, for they are weak auras of their own. There are many others, if you know where to look. I merely collected their energy and focused it properly.”

  “And you used my torc to do it,” Eira added.

  “Yes,” Sindri said simply.

  The silence this time was more thoughtful. Now, the implications of laun were fully realized.

  Roar waved his hand toward Sindri. “Get him out of here,” he said, his expression one of disgust.

  The guards stepped forward and tugged on Sindri’s arms. Sindri lowered his head in a short bow toward Eira. It was a surprisingly regal expression. Then the guards pulled him away from the table, and he shuffled toward the doors between them, the chains clinking.

  Roar looked at Asher as he sat back in his chair. He grimaced and spoke softly, just for Asher to hear. “You have been insisting for decades that laun was harming us in
the long term. Apparently, you were more right than even you knew.”

  Eira and Stefan were looking at him from across the table, their expressions thoughtful. There was still a vote of no-confidence to be decided, he realized with another start.

  He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping across the stone floor. It drew attention to him. “Let’s get this stupid vote out of the way,” he growled. “It’s distracting us from focusing on more important issues like defeating the Alfar and their allies. So laun weakened the auras. So what? No one could have anticipated that. Not even me. I thought laun was unnecessary, but I followed Stefan’s lead. I still do. I vote we dispense with this nonsense now.”

  “Aye,” Roar said instantly and loudly, only a fraction of a second before a full-throated roar of approval sounded around the table.

  Øystein slipped out of the room, unnoticed by anyone but Asher.

  * * * * *

  The alarm came without warning. It arrived when Charlee was inspecting a writhing, deep sword cut on the arm of an Einherjar she had treated a week before. It was exactly like someone was shouting at her, but the words boomed inside her mind.

  They’re coming! They waited until you were gathered and now they spill upon the landscape! Hurry!

  Charlee jerked back in reaction, wincing at the volume. She clapped her free hand to her ear. The other hand was holding the bandages aside and as she recoiled, she tugged on them. The Einherjar hissed as the bandages rubbed across the raw wound.

  “Sorry,” she said, but she didn’t look at him, because the images spilling through her mind were too powerful to ignore. She closed her eyes and held her breath, watching hundreds of Myrakar and thousands of Blakar spread out across open prairieland. Among them, and in front of them, the land was thick with Sinnar and Asmegar, running in their peculiar loping way. The location was unmistakeable, for among the hordes of Alfar, elephants trumpeted in confusion and alarm. Thorn trees dotted the mara, while Mt. Kilimanjaro rose up into the upper atmosphere, indifferent to the drama playing out on the plains below.

  “Charlee, are you alright?”

  Charlee swallowed and opened her eyes. “I have to go.” She held out the ends of the bandage. “Hold this for a second. I’ll get someone to re-wrap these for you. I have to…I must go.”

  “If you must, you must,” the Einherjar said placidly. “Did I see AnnaJo out there, earlier? Perhaps you could ask her to finish up?” He winked at her.

  “Sure,” Charlee told him, already moving out of the cubicle. “Stay put, I’ll send her to you.”

  She moved out into the hall, looking around for the Amica with the golden hair that the Einherjar had requested, and beckoned her over and asked her to finish dressing the wound.

  Then Charlee hurried down the long length of the narrow aisle, moving faster and faster. By the time she emerged from the hall into the rotunda, she was almost running. Halfway across the rotunda, she did start running. It didn’t occur to her to question the warning. The fear that had accompanied the shout had been distinct and highly motivating, pushing her into reacting without thought.

  By the time she reached the boardroom doors, she was almost sprinting. She straight-armed the door, the heel of her hand thumping against the aged wood. Agony flared in her elbow and her wrist but she shoved the door aside, throwing her full weight into getting it swinging slowly open. Once the door was moving, it was easy to open, but getting it swinging took effort.

  Charlee stepped around the Einherjar standing at the back of the big, long room, pushing her way through to the open space at the end of the table, murmuring apologies as she forced her way in.

  Stefan was standing at the head of the table, speaking. Eira looked at Charlee sharply and got to her feet, too. “What is it?” she demanded.

  “The Serengeti,” Charlee said, breathless. “The Alfar are invading Kenya.”

  Heads were turning to look at her.

  “Why would they invade Kenya?” someone asked, sounding amused.

  “I don’t know, but they are,” Charlee snapped. “I saw it. West of Kilimanjaro, right on the border. They took over the hall at Amboseli and they’re pouring out of the portals there. Alfar and vast numbers of Nare. They’re killing anyone they come across, taking the men for slave fighters and stampeding everything else that moves.”

  Heads were turning as the Einherjar checked with each other. Charlee saw amusement on same faces and disbelief on others.

  “There’s nothing in Kenya they could possibly want.”

  “We voluntarily abandoned Amboseli, nearly a hundred years ago.”

  The sound of a phone ringing was almost lost among the murmuring around the table, but Charlee stared at Stefan, for the sound was coming from him. Stefan slapped his hand over his hip where the phone had to be, then grimaced and pulled it out. “Stefan,” he said shortly and listened.

  Then his gaze lifted and he skewered Charlee with a sharp look. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.” He lowered the phone and spoke to the whole room, his voice lifting. “That was Nairobi. The Alfar, I’m told, are invading in mass numbers, all across the Serengeti.” He lifted the phone back to his ear.

  Roar got to his feet. “All hands! Now!” he shouted.

  Charlee was almost knocked over as Einherjar began to stream past her, heading for the door at high speed.

  “Charlee.”

  She looked around as she tried to move closer to the edge of the table and out beyond the tide of men without tripping any of them up. Eira was looking at her and when Charlee’s gaze turned to her, she beckoned with her finger. Charlee patiently moved down the length of the long table, working her way along against the flow of traffic. Finally, as she neared the end where Eira stood the traffic eased, and she stepped up to the end of the table and faced Eira.

  Eira tilted her head. Her eyes were narrowed. “Who told you about the Alfar invading Kenya?” she asked.

  Charlee pressed her lips together, trying to find a phrase that would make the truth sound less fantastic than it really was.

  Eira shifted on her feet. “Come, come. The battle is raging. I should be slaughtering Alfar, not standing here discussing your personal network.” Her hand, Charlee noticed, was resting on the hilt of her long sword, which Eira wore almost every day. She strapped it on when she rose in the morning and it hung from her hip while she worked in the hospital, attended meetings and performed the many administrative duties that were her lot. No one doubted, however, that when a battle began, Eira would be ready. Charlee was holding her up now so she blurted out the frank truth, regardless of how it would be received.

  “I heard it in my head and I saw it in my mind.”

  “You imagined it?” Eira asked, her voice quite neutral. “A prophecy?”

  Charlee shook her head. “Someone spoke to me. There was a personality driving the shout.”

  “Personality?” Eira looked thoughtful. “What did they tell you, exactly?”

  Charlee described the words, the thoughts that had been behind them and the images she had seen.

  “Cognition and clairvoyance,” Eira murmured, staring right through Charlee as she considered the matter. “Do you realize, Charlee, that whoever sent you that warning can reach into the minds of the Alfar and read their intentions?”

  Charlee pressed her fingers to her throat as it seemed to dry up. “Who would have that ability?” she whispered, fear rippling through her.

  Eira smiled. “For now, it doesn’t matter. They’re on our side, Charlee.” She moved passed her. “We’ll talk about this later. For now, do tell me anything else your guardian angel shares with you, hmm?”

  “Of course,” Charlee said quickly, as Eira strode toward the big doors and slipped through them, leaving her alone in the long, narrow room.

  * * * * *

  Unnur lifted herself up from the table where she had slumped over as her vision blurred. The pick-axe in her head was pounding away at the soft matter that made up her brain, each beat o
f her heart driving the sharp point deep inside her skull. She moved slowly, straightening out the cards she had disturbed with her droop, and looked around her little lounge room. It was still daylight outside, and there were even birds twittering just beyond the window.

  But in her mind, she saw once more the dry Serengeti plains, pock-marked by thousands of Alfar, their long swords and knives glinting in the sharp, crystal air. Unnur smelled the dust and could feel it on the back of her throat and how the dry air made her nostrils flare as the moisture inside evaporated.

  The air there was thinner, for the plains were well above sea level. She had felt the Alfar’s collective satisfaction at the lack of oppressive moisture and the thick air that they struggled with when they battled for possession of sea-level halls.

  Unnur had spent the morning laying out spread after spread. She had begun with the critical question—Tell me—and followed up with more and more specific questions as the details seem to paint themselves in her mind with each succeeding spread, filling in like the paint-by-numbers murals on her shop walls had, inch by inch and square by square.

  The thought, the alarm—the vision—had arrived without warning. Unnur didn’t know what to call it. She had shuffled the cards one more time, while holding her next question in her mind, meditating on it with a finely held focus that had been stronger and steadier than she had ever been able to achieve in the past.

  What does your enemy intend? She had kept that question front and foremost in her mind as she shuffled, then split the deck and restacked it, her hands moving smoothly.

  Then she had turned the first card. The King of Wands.

  The pain had struck sharply right behind her eyes, making her cry out and her vision fade. She dropped the cards and covered her eyes, slumping over the table, as the images and thoughts/feelings had pummelled her mind. There had been no need to focus or maintain a meditative state. The vision had encompassed her consciousness, ejecting any thoughts of her own. For the few seconds (centuries) the vision had lasted, Unnur had ceased to exist. She had become a vessel. A channel in truth.

  She had never been to Africa, but she had known without doubt the location of the vision. She had known it with the same certainty with which she knew her name. She knew it was the Serengeti, even though the Alfar had another name for the place. They revered the mountain on the horizon for its solitary splendor.