Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing)

by Shannon M Yarnold

  “Arabella.” Wynn could think of nothing else to say, but it seemed that it was enough, for Arabella’s emotions softened and a trickle of love found its way forward. Wynn smiled.

  “You look well enough, I imagined an entirely different Wynn. I am so glad you are well, this could have ended so badly.”

  Wynn gestured with her eyes, and sent memories through the mental link of the destruction she had seen, “And this is not bad enough? What are we doing here?”

  In this Arabella was tight-lipped and she pushed Wynn from her mind gently and Wynn looked up in surprise. She quickly located Arabella in the crowd, her beautiful face and long hair and thin frame so different to those of the students, she was to her left, leaning against the wall and gazing at Irik and Nethali who were padding silently towards Wynn, their faces soft. When they reached Wynn they stood either side of her, protectively.

  “I have called you all so Wynn can explain what happened here,” Taien called, his powerful voice reaching to the far corners of the room, though its right to be called a room had gone when the northern wall had crumbled, it was now just a structure allowing golden sunlight to beam through, “it is something you all deserve and I am sure Wynn will gladly tell you the tale.”

  He glanced quickly at Wynn’s face and she was unsure what he saw, she did not have the energy to force a blank expression. It was probably one of terror, or shock. She swallowed, yes the students and professors and servants all deserved an explanation as to why she had destroyed their home and sanctuary, it was the least she could do. She felt Nethali wrap her arm around her shoulders and somehow it made her stronger, she would be completely honest in this tale.

  How long it took, Wynn was unsure, once she started she could not stop. She did not tell everything to the hundreds of faces that watched her, there were things that were too painful to discuss or remember, and things that were just not relevant, but everything else was laid out before her. She started from the beginning, sometimes using magic to explain a difficult situation or experience, creating the scene before them, in the form of moving pictures. It was good for the servants, who could not feel her sincerity as she told her story. She reached the telling of Procel, where the tale really began, and explained everything, every sight, how she had felt, she had the need for them to truly understand.

  She missed out her meeting with Medea and her time with Wolf and her tribe; she caught Arabella’s eyes as she passed over them and caught the slightest of nods. Arabella approved. Next came her time in the Seminary, here she left nothing out either, the students needed to hear her point of view, especially those who carried hostile intentions towards her. If they still felt that way after she had finished then that was their prerogative but she deserved the chance to explain. Soon she had reached the part where the darkness took over and there was no way to describe how it had felt other than showing them. Many gasped and Wynn was relieved when eventually they began to understand.

  When she had finished her tale Irik too placed his arm around her and now three hundred eyes looked sympathetically at her. It was almost worse than the hate they had radiated a moment ago.

  “I hope in time you can learn to forgive me, I have told my tale and it is up to you to take from it what you will.”

  “You have all listened well,” Nethali smiled, “but now I must ask you to leave and continue your packing and planning, we all have a long journey ahead of us.”

  Wynn glanced at her but she was smiling sweetly and innocently. She would find out soon enough, she watched the students; professors and servants file from the room, amused at the range of emotions that passed. Anger, pity, shock, amazement, and so many other unexpected ones like respect.

  The room was silent and only Taien, Arabella, Irik and Nethali were left. They all converged in the middle of the room, in a loose circle, Irik and Nethali hugging, and Wynn leaning on Arabella. Wynn expected it to be awkward, and certainly it was but they had survived through so much that Wynn forced herself to forget it and be grateful that they still stood here with her, she needed them now, especially now she had come to a serious and important conclusion.

  “I have to go to The Rune,” Wynn announced, “to save everyone, the darkness showed me a vision of the thousands of people imprisoned there and I cannot allow it to continue now I am free.”

  “No,” Taien replied, “you do not have to do anything; what you should do is think before you act. I propose you come with me to my homeland and learn how to use your magic before you even consider travelling to The Rune.”

  “We do not have time!” Wynn cried.

  “Would you rather charge headlong to The Rune and face Aerona and lose, resulting in the death of many or go to my homeland, learn to use your magic and face Aerona when you know you can win?” Taien retorted.

  Wynn hung her head, his words spoke true but she knew that she would never be content until she had freed those people and killed Aerona. She knew all of them felt her determination but she was glad they respected her enough not to respond to her thoughts and instead Irik cleared his throat.

  “I am glad that that is settled because I can see now that we all have very different paths to tread. It is the beginning of the end. Nethali and I have decided to search and recruit the remaining Magus and Mages, and hold talks with the other Nations. Arabella has offered to join us.”

  Wynn gulped, “It does not seem quite real. It seems like only yesterday I was mopping the floor in Woodstone, and now look what is stretched before us. So much to accomplish in so little time.”

  “It is achievable,” Arabella said determinedly, “I refuse to believe it is anything but. This will be a difficult time for all of us but we will get through it.”

  Her words echoed around the hall and lifted them all. They could not start out on such a hard journey with doubts; it would work because it had to. They stared at each other solemnly, before breaking off on their separate ways to prepare for what lay ahead.

  15

  The General paced the tavern, cracking his knuckles in anger. The men of the army sat silently, watching him with worry. The tavern had once been full of activity, near the artisans section which was always alive with people, but Woodstone’s army had taken it over in their search for Byron almost a month ago and now broken tables were set against walls, and broken glass littered the floor, the windows were boarded up and slits of silver moonlight washed over the darkness within; the air was musty with sweat and fear.

  “They escaped,” the General said to the men after what seemed like hours of tense silence, reminding them again of their failure, as he had done repeatedly since Byron had escaped. A few hung their heads – those who were supposed to have been guarding him in the pub all those weeks ago – but most continued to stare at him, waiting for him to explode in anger. His temper was infamous and none wanted to be on the receiving end if he did decide to hit something. By all accounts he was not the strongest man in the army, many of them could pummel him the ground if they wished, but he had such an aura of authority about him, and a fierce temper when provoked that none had ever dared. Too many of the soldiers were dim-witted, picked for their size and strength rather than their mental capabilities and so it had never really occurred to them to take power for themselves. They had lost men in the battle at the port and their pride and the General’s pride was severely dented, the bodies had been thrown to the sea but the blood could not be washed away. A band of seamen and a young man had easily defeated them. It was an unheard of failure. No one challenged the army, no one survived. The General stopped pacing and looked out at the men.

  “We cannot continue to The Rune without that boy,” he hissed, “it is not an option. We will sail back, for he is heading to Terra. The vessel they have boarded is only a small cargo ship and will easily be caught up. There will be no mistakes this time.”

  The men bustled uncomfortably under his stare; it was the glare of a man on edge, at breaking point. The General nodded slowly to himself as though
he had proved a difficult point and come out victorious; and without another word left the tavern, the soldiers scrabbling after him, none wanting to be disciplined for not following him quickly enough. They walked through the crowds of the small island, pushing passersby out of the way, menaces to the common man. They reached the port and boarded their boat. The inhabitants of the island watched the men who had made their lives hell for three weeks sail slowly away, the sails billowing in the wind, white ghosts against the black painted sky.

  Byron leant on the railings, watching the sun set, its colours thrown onto the face of the water; they shifted and flowed across the waves, ethereal in their simplicity. His mind was surprisingly calm and blank, no one thought wished to be heard more than the others; he was content at this moment to be alone and to watch the sun setting. Not that his feeling lasted long, as happened too often for Byron to recall, Kestyn found her way into his head. Her laugh which was more of a hoarse giggle, her smile, the defiant way she put her hand on her hip and scowled at him, every single thing about her he loved passionately. It was strange to feel this way about someone but it was true and honest.

  He heard footsteps from behind him then and turned to see Kestyn walking in his direction hesitantly. Talk of the devil, he thought to himself. The moon had not yet begun to shine; it was early in the evening, so she was lit solely by the twilight. Her short hair was uncovered and Bryon glanced at it before turning back to the horizon, forcing his face blank. Kestyn stopped beside him and too leant on the rails.

  “You still will not talk to me?” She asked quietly.

  Bryon continued to look out at the sea, clenching his teeth together. The men had all gone below to sleep many hours ago, save a few who were on watch this night; they were at the helm and at the prow and pointedly ignored Kestyn and Byron. The ship seemed caught in time, gently drifting on the ocean, the night was endless and Byron suddenly wished for the moon to light them more clearly. The silence stretched between them, save Kestyn’s soft breathing beside him, he wished her away, this was no time to be near her, under the beauty of twilight.

  “I am still mad at you,” he answered eventually, not bothering to look at her. It was easier to pretend to be furious at her, then to admit any kind of feeling. She stiffened beside him at his reply and he almost felt guilty for a moment, but the boat rocked suddenly and he was reminded of the danger she had put herself in. On a strange boat, headed to a land she had never seen before. He could not justify her actions no matter how much they pleased him.

  “I am not the helpless girl you believe me to be,” she said softly.

  Byron hit the rails in anger and looked at her, “The men that hunt me will kill me, and take you as a souvenir of the voyage, your beauty will work against you, you will be used and spat out again. I do not wish that for you.”

  Kestyn lowered her head, her cheeks burning in shame and defiance. Ever since she had met Byron in the alley beside her father’s shop she had been drawn to him. He was so handsome and mysterious, so unlike the obvious men of the island. He had a past which had shaped him and even though he was not much older than her he held himself with such weary wisdom that she felt so childish at times beside him, it only endeared him to her more.

  “I have seen women who sell themselves,” Kestyn said after a while, “you are right, there are men who will see me as easy prey, but I will not let that happen, as I have said I am not as weak as I appear. I had to come with you Byron.”

  “I see no reason that you did,” he interjected sharply.

  Kestyn opened her mouth to argue, but Byron was stiff and cold against the rails and it seemed a waste of breath. She turned her head and felt warm tears fall down her cheeks. With a small sniff she quickly turned on her heel and made her down below to her cabin, without a backwards glance. Byron sighed and hit his forehead against the wooden rail in despair. He should have tried harder to force her to stay. He was pleased she had come with him but the love he felt for her forced him to be mad, to drive her away from him, for an attachment with him would only lead to heartbreak, he could not guarantee what would happen when he reached Terra. His freedom was forever in question.

  Byron knew why she had followed him and what it had cost her to do so, and his heart leapt for joy that the love was mutual, or at least she believed it so. But as he watched the moon shine brightly on the wooden boards of the boat, and watch the water lap at the ship’s face he vowed however much it hurt him, however much he would lie awake at night weeping for the loss he would discourage any relationship with her. Refuse any offers and behave so unkindly that as soon as they reached Terra’s port she would run from him, hate him.

  He looked at the open sea and vastness of the water and for a split second wondered whether death would be easier for everyone. Instead he began to weep so softly and so wretchedly that if the moon had a face it too would have wept along with him.

  ***

  The Captain yawned and let the first rays of morning stroke his face from the porthole before he got up from his bed. He ambled through the bowls of the ship, satisfied all of his crew were already awake and completing their tasks. He walked on deck and saw the young man he had smuggled on board fast asleep against the railings. He walked over and shook the man until he groggily awoke.

  Byron jumped up and smiled awkwardly at the Captain who smiled back in turn, seemingly deciding not question his strange sleeping arrangements.

  “You think you can help the afterguard? The wind is a cruel mistress this morning,” the Captain asked. Byron nodded and walked towards the group of men doggedly working the sails, grabbing at the bowline and tying it to the ship. Byron caught hold of one of the flapping ropes and with the help of the other men tied it securely to the ship. The men slapped him comradely on the back and congratulated him on not falling over the side of the ship on his first try. Byron laughed then, unsure whether they were being serious, and walked off to see if there was any breakfast to be had.

  Kestyn sat on her bed in her cabin inspecting her nails. They were dirty and as she cleaned them she longed for a bath. A luxury she would have to do without for as long as this journey took. She had had the sense to have a long soak before setting off back home, but still the thought of being covering in grime, sweat and salt water was not appealing. It was enough to make her wish briefly that she had never come. She thought back to her father, his small, sad, old face staring back at her as she explain that she was leaving the island for Terra. He had not begged her, or scolded her, he had looked at her with such pride and dignity that she knew that was how she would always remember him. He had not tried to stop her and she was glad, for she knew with every part of her being that wherever Byron went she would follow. Her love for him tied her to him and she would never apologise for that, so of course she could endure being filthy if it meant she was near him.

  Kestyn did not hesitate to call the feelings she felt for Byron love, with no past experience to guide her it was the only answer she could find to describe the insatiable need she had for him. Men had come and go from her life, but none had affected her the way Byron had. Instantly, beyond reason, her heart had fluttered when she first looked at him, as though warning her it was the beginning of something she could not control. It was an attraction felt with her heart and mind, the moment that had changed her forever. It had taken mere weeks for her to know Byron was the person she would spend the rest of her life with. The logical part of her mind told her it was foolish, she hardly knew anything about him, but in her heart she saw the truth. He was kind and brave, honest and noble, what more could she ask for in the man she loved?

  If only Byron felt the same, Kestyn sighed. Surely she was not so abhorrent? Could he not even entertain the idea of loving her? Every time their eyes met Kestyn willed them to soften but they were only cold. She rationalised it, he was angry at her for putting herself in danger, he was a good man and so he feared for her. But Kestyn wanted him to do more than worry about her, she wanted him to notice her
and maybe someday love her. Kestyn glanced at her nails, refusing to be disheartened; once they were clean she left the cabin, exploring the bowels of the ship until she came across the Captain. He nodded to her pleasantly and inquired about her health.

  “Thank you Captain I am fine, but I was wondering if there a task I can help you with, I cannot lie in my cabin and do nothing, my hands chafe to be doing something constructive.”

  “Yes you can help the cook if that pleases you?” The Captain replied, thinking Kestyn would jump at the chance to do something in the galley.

  Kestyn bristled; offended he should give her such a task. It was precisely this attitude that made Byron overprotective of her; she was a woman not a child. There was a difference that seemed to be confused, men either viewed her as incapable or beneath them, there seemed to be no middle ground, as far as Kestyn could tell. She stared at the Captain’s face, knowing that he had not meant to offend her, but nonetheless had, “Is the ships cook male? May I ask?”

  The Captain frowned and nodded.

  “Is he skilled as a cook?”

  “I would say yes madam, he is.”

  “That is good then because I have never been much of a cook myself, my help would be more of a hindrance. I would not mind other work; on the ship or down here in the hull, I am just as strong as the men. My father was a carpenter; I have helped him in his shop since my mother died.”