Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing)

by Shannon M Yarnold

  The group watched the pair, transfixed. Griffin scowled at Rueben knowing then what Arabella had wanted to talk to him about. Rueben was weak and had fallen for Arabella, despite her rejection, despite every single warning. Magic had bewitched him and he was too far gone to fight it.

  “But I love you,” Rueben said softly. The forest bristled in the wind, Rueben’s hair whipped his face, and tears stung on his cheeks.

  Arabella shook her head, “You do not know the meaning of the word. Save your breath and clear your mind. You were warned countless times that weak and naive men are susceptible to my magic.”

  Rueben stared at her, raising his hand unconsciously, looking for all the world as if he was going to strike her, but instead he turned on his heel and stormed off into the night. His thoughts and emotions were confused and hard to read, Arabella tried in vain to decipher them but nothing was concrete and she certainly found nothing dangerous, she dismissed it. When Griffin was sure Rueben was out of earshot he turned to Arabella.

  “You had nothing to do with this?”

  Arabella’s eyes widened, “That is why I wanted to talk to you, to warn you, Griffin I am cold, and I am a killer, but I would not break a heart that does not deserve to be broken.”

  Wynn felt a stab of pain as Arabella thought of a painful memory, a faint picture painted itself before Wynn’s eyes. Arabella crying, her hands held out before her, the figure of a man walking away in the distance. The sensation quickly disappeared and Wynn breathed an unconscious sigh of relief, uncomfortable that something so personal had been revealed to her. Arabella’s eyes snapped to Wynn as she in turn felt the pain that her memory had caused Wynn. It was an uncomfortable and awkward stream of information. Griffin stood up and helped Arabella with him; they picked up the rest of the plates and took them to the stream.

  “I fear what Rueben will do,” Griffin said slowly to Arabella as they bent over the water, using a stone to scour away any remaining food. Arabella knelt down beside him and was silent for a long moment, thinking.

  “I sensed no threatening urges or thoughts,” she responded softly, “I think what we saw was nothing more than a wounded ego. Truly Griffin, what’s the worst that can happen?”

  ***

  Bryon opened his eyes blearily to find his hands tied painfully behind him. His body was strapped to a chair and as he looked around him he realised he was surrounded by the army. The smell of mead and sweat was heavy on the air and Byron knew exactly where he was, he had been there throughout his childhood and now it held nothing but painful memories for him. Woodstone's tavern, the meeting place of the army; he breathed a sigh of relief that he was not far from the Manor. From the darkness of the tavern it was clear that night had fallen across the town, the only light came from the faint dazzle of the moon. In the silver light the General circled him, egged on silently by his men, their faces contorted in a fever of bloodlust and contempt. Byron's face felt heavy and bruised.

  He knew he only had a few moments to clear his head and ready himself before the General turned on him again. He struggled past the haze trying desperately to see clearly. He ached but it was bearable, and he focused on that, he was not dead. Yet, he corrected himself, he had no idea what the General's plan was, he had to remind himself he was at the disadvantage, it would not be easy to escape.

  “Where is she?” The General hissed, brandishing a dagger in the air, forcing Byron to focus. He lowered his eyes but refused to answer, clenching his jaw as though the General would prise it open in search for an answer. The General waited, his eyes blazing in anger. Byron remembered in flashes what had happened only a few short hours ago, the General and his men had raided the Manor soon after Wynn had left. They seemed surprised to find the Master, dead and sprawled in between the rubble of the broken wall in what transpired to be Wynn’s bedroom. This had made Byron assume that they had not raided the Manor in search of the murderer, but were there for an entirely different reason, a reason they had had to put on hold to deal with their Master’s demise. Every servant was questioned, but when they found out Wynn had vanished, the blame fell resolutely on her.

  It didn’t matter that there was no way Wynn could possibly have killed the Master, an able bodied man, and created such devastation in the basement. Once they learned she was missing, it was all they could talk about and demand about. Byron knew then that something was wrong, but every servant had recalled him entering the kitchen looking suspicious, just after the breach of security alarm was raised and he was taken in for questioning. The blows which rained in after that were all he could remember before waking up in the tavern.

  Byron had not gone without a fight, and as he sat before the General it pleased him to see a bruise appearing under the General’s eye where he had managed to punch him before he was knocked out.

  The General began to pace, in irritation, but Byron’s jaw stayed firm. He did not know why he was defending Wynn; he should have told the army what he knew and left them to get on with it. But he knew he wouldn’t, it was not just that he knew the Master had had a less than respectful desire for Wynn, rendering any harm that had befallen him justified in Byron’s eyes, it was the fact that Wynn was so fragile. If she had killed the Master, he would be glad. No one man deserved death more that he had. And so Byron respected her more than anyone he had ever met and as he sat on the cold hard chair, ropes cutting into his skin, he vowed he would protect her.

  “Don’t you dare ignore me boy!” The General screamed, punching Byron hard around the face. Byron’s head swung around, and he felt his teeth bite down hard on his tongue. He swirled his mouth around, then leant over and spat out blood. The soldiers stationed around the wall sniggered at Byron’s bleeding mouth, but most bristled with anticipation, for none defied the General and remained unscathed.

  “Sir?” A voice called out from the door.

  The General spun round to look at the man who had entered the tavern, his fists still clenched, “What?”

  “We’ve found her, Sir,” the soldier replied, idiotically mimicking the General’s smirk. The General signalled and a boy was pushed roughly into the tavern.

  “Who are you?” The General snapped impatiently.

  The boy bristled but stood his ground, he raised his head triumphantly, as though he was proud, “Someone who has been affected by the person you seek.”

  “Where is she boy?”

  The boy sneered then, and his face contorted evilly, “In Lumber forest, cavorting with a Gypsy and other refugees wanted by the state.”

  The General barked with laughter and slapped the boy on the back, wrapping his arm around his shoulders in a mock display of affection. The boy smiled at the attention and pushed his blonde mop of hair from his eyes. Byron’s heart sank as he watched the boy and the General leave the tavern, Wynn would be captured and there was nothing he could do.

  Turning around to look at his men, the boy still in his embrace, the General’s eyes narrowed, “Go get her; and do what you wish with him.”

  The soldiers rubbed their hands, some spitting on their palms in preparation. Byron closed his eyes as his body took the onslaught of punches and kicks. His head hung and he spat as blood poured from his broken nose and cut face into his mouth. Wynn clouded his mind and he prayed she would survive.

  ***

  Wynn stared at the fire, Arabella's words still ringing in her ears. She watched the flames dance against the darkness of the night, unsure how to feel. Arabella's words – Magus, the Foreseen – tasted strange to Wynn's tongue and wrong to her mind. She was confused and alone, both emotionally and physically. Arabella and Griffin had not returned from the stream, Rueben had long since left, angrier than Wynn had ever felt anyone be, Theodore, Braelyn and Jareth had gone hunting and Wynn was left alone. They were in calling distance she was sure, and Arabella would know if anything befell her through the same gift Wynn now had, the sensing and feeling of others emotions and thoughts. Whether she would aid Wynn, that was another question a
nd Wynn hoped it did not come to that.

  The flames were hypnotic and for a moment she was lost in their wildness, not held to the world, nothing but the heat of the fire, a blaze of beauty, free to burn and live. Then the breeze blustered past and the flames twitched and Wynn was awoken from her dreams and back alone in the darkness of the forest. It was easier to deny what Arabella had said than to face it so Wynn convinced herself Arabella was wrong, that she was not the Foreseen or even a Magus; that this was a bad dream and in a moment she would wake up and have to serve the Master. Did she want that? To be back in the Manor? Her life nothing but a bleak and unseen darkness? She stared at her hands. They were hard and calloused, hands that had worked all of their life. They were different in the light and she fancied she could see the magic pulsing through her veins because as hard as Wynn denied Arabella's words, she could not disguise what had happened to the Master.

  What was it, this magic? Illegal... unknown and yet it lived in her. Wynn did not know how it made her feel and she pushed it away, pushed away all the thoughts that confused her and scared her. In the distance the sound of an owl hooting distracted her from her misery and she focused on the sounds of the forest, the crackle of the fire, the call of the birds and scurrying of the small animals that darted around her. She could sense their basic needs keenly, the need for food and warmth. Wynn smiled and prepared to wait for the travellers to return.

  They returned a few hours later, each face pensive. Wynn felt their emotions fiercely, the silence magnifying them and she took a shaking breath as she tried to sort through them. Arabella was distracted, that much was clear but Wynn could glean nothing else because Arabella was so skilled at hiding what she did not wish others to know. Wynn did her best to ignore Arabella, their relationship was already shaky and she did not want the Gypsy to think she was trying to pry into her thoughts. Griffin and Jareth could have been one person their thoughts were so similar; plans of what to do next, of what had happened, of Wynn and Braelyn's arrival, Wynn listened to them with interest.

  What happened next threw the travellers into chaos and meant that Wynn did not have time to listen for long. She felt and heard the army before she saw them, their footsteps cracking dried twigs and leaves in a complete circle around the camp, their emotions controlled and obedient. She opened her mouth to shout a warning but a hand had fixed itself across her face, a hand almost as large as her head, and was gripping her with such strength she feared her head would be torn from her neck. She struggled against the vice like hold, but her small body was no match for the might of the muscle bound soldier. She tried to look around but everything with a blur of confusion and shouting.

  Across the glade three soldiers had grasped Arabella and she was screaming and kicking like an injured animal, her cries wordless in fury. The soldiers held her tightly, taking her attacks with a grim determination. She almost broke free, her with no weapons and the soldiers with swords, but they had surprise on their side, for Arabella's emotions screamed out shock and fury; she could not believe she had been snuck up upon. A fourth forced a bag of some kind over her head, so that her cries were muffled. Suddenly Arabella's verbal cries were silenced and all Wynn could hear were her thoughts, incoherent in their anger.

  Jareth and Griffin were locked in a vicious battle with the remaining soldiers, but it was clear the element of surprise had worked in the army’s favour again and Jareth and Griffin could not gain the upper hand. Wynn watched with horror as they were held down and a strange liquid poured down their throats, stilling their limbs and forcing them into a deep sleep. Theodore put up no fight but he too was forced to drink the unidentifiable liquid. Braelyn had been gagged and a look of complete terror had transformed her serene, beautiful face. Wynn longed to run to her and comfort her but the soldier’s hand held her firm. She was lifted to her feet roughly and forced to walk.

  Meanwhile, Arabella tried to concentrate on breathing, for the bag over her head let little air through. She listened intently to the noises around her, the slight pad of footsteps on both her sides, and the larger, heavier steps of the army. She bit her tongue in anger. I should have killed them all when I had a chance, she cursed as she walked. How had she missed them? But even as she thought it she knew the answer, she had been distracted and it would be the death of them. Her mind was hazy and tumultuous and she had been foolish to rely on the lesser hearing of those without the gift. Only she and Wynn would have known of the army's approach and Wynn could no more be relied on than a child. Her magic was erratic and unpredictable, as she had not yet come of age, her emotions would override her common sense.

  Arabella whispered an internal apology to Wynn, knowing she was the only one that could hear her, and the only one who would suffer a fate worse than death. “I’m sorry Wynn, I was not paying attention, I was too focused on Rueben and wondering if he is safe. I did not hear the army's thoughts until it was too late and with my hands bound I can do nothing to help us. I am sorry.” Her apology was thick with remorse, because both Wynn and Arabella knew where they were being taken and what it meant. Both could hear the soldier's thoughts.

  “Wynn is to be taken alive, the General will be pleased that she is in such good condition,” one thought.

  “Shame about the Gypsy, she is beautiful, but orders are orders, her kind deserve death,” another mused.

  Wynn heard it repeated over and over that she was to be taken alive; another fate awaited her and from the crude and vile thoughts of the soldiers Wynn wished it was her name that was marked for death. The others were of no importance to the General, a bonus to the day’s work, death was inevitable and they were the soldier's to do with what they wished. Arabella stumbled as she walked, but the thick hands that held her arms held her firmly upright and for the moment she did not need to fear that she would fall. Arabella was glad in this one instance that Wynn could read her every emotion, urge and thought, for she had never felt more remorseful in all her life. If only she had paid attention.

  She instantly thought back to what her grandmother had told her about magic. The easiest way to control and channel magic was through the hands, as that way you could gauge the amount and power. Those with more experience could use it at will, with their minds. Arabella had never bothered to learn using magic with just her mind. She had been arrogant. Now as she stood, a hostage, she wished more than anything she had learnt that skill.

  Beside her, Wynn stumbled to keep up. The hand that held her ensured she would not fall over, but it did nothing to ease her shaking limbs. Her body was too tired; she had not slept and eaten properly in so long and it was showing at the worst possible time. She felt all of Arabella’s remorse and knew she did not blame her, it was not Arabella’s responsibility to protect them all, it was she who had brought the army upon them. A wave of guilt washed over her and she was glad for the moment that she could not see Arabella’s expression.

  Aside from the guilt – magnified exponentially by Arabella’s – she was surprised that she was afraid. She had thought herself broken; convincing herself that if the army caught her she would give in. What would hold her land of the living? But now as the soldier’s fingernails dug deep into her crying flesh, she longed more than anything to live. Wynn knew she would fight for her right to survive, and for the rights of the travellers. The forest around her had never seemed so inviting, the dark shadows and huge trees a perfect hiding place. The leaves and branches crackled underfoot and she was glad she was not blindfolded.

  Wynn could feel Arabella cursing herself again, and gradually getting more and more frustrated as they walked. Wynn could feel her emotions clearly – more so than the others and she wondered if the emotions of the gifted were especially potent – frustration, anger and most importantly, and surprisingly a spark of fear. Wynn had not thought Arabella one to feel fear but she knew they were outnumbered, defenceless and with Wynn no help magically Arabella stood alone. Wynn had found through observation that she could not find the source of a person’s
emotions, or why they felt that way, only the emotion itself, but most of the time the emotion was explained by the thoughts which demanded to be heard. As she walked she wondered if that would change once she became used to her powers.

  The walk through the woods, down the path and to the tavern seemed to take an eternity. Wynn’s body ached, her thighs burned, and the blood pounded in her ears. The forest danced past them, a blur of shadows and foliage. Wynn eyed the square when they reached it, remembering parts from her sparse visits, the night offered no light other than the moon, and square was dimly lit by lanterns. They stopped and Wynn, in the mix of amber and silver light, saw Theodore, Jareth and Griffin on the ground, their faces distorted in a nightmarish sleep. Arabella stood swaying a few feet away, disorientated, the bag still securely on her head. Braelyn was on the ground, her hands and feet tied tightly together. Wynn unconsciously drank in Arabella and Braelyn’s panic as thought it were her own. Her mouth became drier and she struggled to breathe.

  The men that had been holding Wynn thrust her forward, leaving the travellers behind her and forcing her to pay attention to the situation at hand. Everything was happening so quickly that she found she could only focus ahead of her, at the tavern which was where she was being led. The walls were lined with soldiers, their forms even more menacing in the shadows and a shaven haired man stood in the centre of the room, swinging a dagger casually. He sneered when he saw Wynn, sheathing the dagger. With a gesture from the man, Wynn was thrust into the musty air of the tavern, the travellers left behind her.

  Wynn's first and most insistent perception was that of the army. They overwhelmed her senses and forced her to see herself through their eyes. Their thoughts were mostly inconsistent, most too illiterate to put a voice to the initial feelings of anticipation. They were a fog on her senses and she felt suddenly weak. It was dark in the tavern and oppressive and Wynn struggled to stay upright, to face what was happening. She was not to die, she was certain of that, the soldiers’ orders had been concrete, but it did not mean that she was safe; she had only to be alive, not comfortable. The man walked over to Wynn then and she recognised the shaven haired, severe looking man as the visitor the Master had had only a few days ago. The man that had interrupted the Master as he cut her; it seemed like another life, but in reality it had only been a few days ago.