Prophet (Books of the Infinite Book #1)

by R. J. Larson

  Ela drifted back to her work, blissfully thankful that at least one soul in Riyan had listened to the Infinite. This afternoon’s chores would be a delight, eased by the knowledge of Ket Behl’s newfound peace.

  She wandered into the kitchen and looked around, stupefied. Leather bags of grains and flour rested in corners. Dried meats, vegetables, and fruits dangled in mesh bags from hooks in the rafters, alongside garlands of dried herbs. Jars of vinegar and oil stood in rows against the wall opposite the huge fireplace, flanked by bins bearing the promise of additional foodstuffs. And fragrant slivers of wood filled the big arching hollow beneath the open, raised hearth, ready to use.

  While Ela tried to absorb the sight of such treasures, a gentle voice called from the outer doorway. “May I help you?”

  Tek Lara stepped into the kitchen, smiling, pushing back her softly draped white hood. “I’m not supposed to be away from my family until the official mourning ends, but they’re all squabbling, and I couldn’t endure it any longer. I needed some peace. Father would agree.”

  “You sent all this?”

  “Yes, though I should have sent it sooner.”

  “Thank you!” Ela exclaimed—to Lara and to the Infinite. “Some of the prisoners are near to dying of starvation. I’ve been adding a little more to their meals each day, but . . .”

  “Now they’ll be fed,” Lara promised. “Including you. So what must we accomplish first?”

  “We?” Ela stared at the young noblewoman. Lara hung her hooded cloak on a wall peg and stood waiting in a plain brown tunic, her dark hair braided back like any servant’s.

  “Yes. You’ll have to endure me.” Lara approached the hearth and tested a griddle with her fingertips. “I need to talk to you, and I need to keep busy. What are you cooking first?”

  “Oh.” Ela looked around. “I was going to scrub and chop vegetables with the last of the dried meat for tonight’s stew. The water’s already simmering in the courtyard—I’m behind in my work.”

  “All the better that I’m here. No doubt the Infinite sent me.”

  “No doubt!” Blessing the Infinite for this amazing surprise, Ela rushed outside to the water barrel, filled some buckets, then sat beside Lara in the open doorway to scrub and chop the heaps of vegetables. After a brief silence, Lara asked, “Have you received word from the Infinite? I mean, what’s going to happen? I’ve been so uneasy lately.”

  A brief series of images and explanations whisked through Ela’s thoughts, leaving her breathless. “You’re uneasy because you know the truth and don’t want to admit it. The kingdom is about to fall.”

  Lara’s color faded, but she continued to chop at her vegetables. “My royal cousin—”

  “Is about to die. Unless he listens to you. It’s not too late.” While she scrubbed vegetables, Ela leaned toward the young noblewoman. “Listen. Please warn the king to stay in Istgard and to bring the Istgardians back to the Infinite, whom they once trusted. Declaring war will be disastrous, particularly if Tek An goes into battle. Warn him openly.”

  Knife stilled, Lara eyed Ela. “Why openly?”

  “Because you must speak the Infinite’s will in Istgard. Soon, if Tek An fails to listen, I’ll be gone. Your duties—your public duties—must begin now.”

  Lara went back to chopping, her knife clacking hard against the board. “Istgardian women do not have public duties.”

  “And Parnian women don’t become prophets.” That made Lara stop. Ela continued, “Is anything impossible for the Infinite?”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but—”

  “You’re a royal general’s daughter, Lara. The Infinite’s child. And as the king would say, you are a Tek and that is enough. Truly, you’ll be the only living Tek the people trust, and you won’t fail them. If the king goes into battle.”

  “I don’t want to consider it!” Lara chopped a carrot ferociously, betraying her distress.

  “Even so, listen.” Ela set the baskets of scrubbed vegetables between them, positioned her knife and board, and began to mince an onion. “If the worst happens, believe me: You will gather allies and rebuild Istgard within days.”

  “Days? Rebuild a kingdom within days? Ela—”

  “Not a kingdom,” Ela corrected. “A nation. First you must send word to Judge Ket Behl and request his counsel. He now worships the Infinite and will support you.”

  “What?” The young noblewoman put down her knife and grabbed Ela’s arm, her pained expression giving way to joy. “I thought my servants and I were the only believers in Istgard. Oh, how wonderful!” She picked up the knife again. “I’ll call on the judge this evening, after I leave here.”

  “Not this evening.” Ela reached for another onion. “Give him a week to adjust. He’s full of plans right now, and his family is in turmoil. In addition, you’re both in mourning.”

  Lara’s elated glow dimmed. “For one lovely instant, I’d almost forgotten.” She focused on the vegetables for a time, then sighed. “How can I convince my cousin to give up his resolution to go to war?”

  “Only speak to him. He must listen while there’s still time. I’ll be praying for you all.”

  “This morning, he woke us by wailing through the corridors in a nightmare.”

  Ela shivered, watching a silent image of Tek An shambling along the palace’s golden corridors, disheveled and howling. “What was he screaming?”

  “He was crying for his son.”

  Ela forced the mournful imagery from her thoughts. “He has two months to change.”

  Kien sensed his enemy’s oblique approach, sword lifted to kill—

  A brisk tapping jarred him to reality. Disgusted, he swung toward his imaginary foe, then straightened, facing the cell door. “Enter!”

  It was ridiculous to give permission to enter his cell. Anyone with a key could admit themselves. Already, the lock was freed and Kien heard the bolt sliding away.

  This was unexpected. It wasn’t time for him to be led outside, and he’d had no formal visitors for many weeks. Almost two months, actually. He’d begun to think the king had kindly forgotten him and that Ela’s visions were nothing but Parnian whimsicalities.

  Ela’s soldier-friend, Tsir Aun, strode into the cell. “You are summoned.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes. And I won’t bind you if you don’t fight.” The crown commander gave Kien’s dark garments a cold, sweeping glance. “The king will be displeased that you still wear black attire. At least it’s clean. Have you burned that old cloak?”

  “With what? The fire in my nonexistent hearth?”

  Kien laughed as the crown commander made a face, acceding silent defeat. Tsir Aun prompted Kien from the cell. “When we return, Tracelander, you will hand over that foul cloak. I want to watch it burn in the courtyard.”

  “I’ll consider it. Who knows? Perhaps the prison will catch fire.” Kien had actually stuffed the old cloak down an outside privy several weeks past, unable to endure its mustiness any longer. However, this Istgardian soldier didn’t need to know such details. “Why have I been summoned?”

  “I am not at liberty to speak.”

  To provoke the crown commander—and to amuse himself—Kien began to guess. “The king has finally accepted my terms for Istgard’s surrender to the Tracelands?”

  “No.” Tsir Aun goaded Kien toward the stairwell. “Watch your step.”

  “The king has decided to set me free?”

  “Decidedly not.”

  They clattered down the stairs. In the prison’s main passage, Kien snapped his fingers. “You’re actually part of a sympathetic conspiracy, and you’re planning to free me yourself?”

  “One more question and I’ll knock you senseless.” The soldier followed his threat with an impressive glare. No wonder his men obeyed him. Kien hoped Tsir Aun wasn’t in charge of the whole army yet. The Istgardian military would be entirely too disciplined and organized.

  “Are you now the crown general?”

&nbs
p; Tsir Aun shoved Kien into a wall. Once he’d gathered his senses and checked his face for dents—and found none—Kien said, “Sorry. That question escaped me.”

  The crown commander marched Kien outside, where four soldiers waited. Without shields. “A rather small contingent today.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Tsir Aun said, “It’s doubtful anyone will try to assassinate you after all these weeks. Nor is it likely that we’ll have to fend off rampaging destroyers.”

  Meaning that he, Kien Lantec, was a dull prisoner?

  Kien had to admit the ensuing walk was boring. Couldn’t Ela have caused enough mischief to accompany him for this rebuke—or whatever his meeting entailed?

  Inside the palace, Kien was shown to a chamber filled with noblemen and their peculiar odors. Their mincing manners. And their sneers. He could only surmise that he’d been brought out of the prison for some royal idea of entertainment.

  However, his first glimpse of Tek An was hardly amusing. The man looked twenty years older, though it had been only two months since Kien had last seen him. The king had lost weight. His skin sagged in loose jowls, and the pouches beneath his eyes were now so pronounced they seemed to rest on his cheekbones.

  “Lan Tek.” The king scowled toward Kien’s black attire. “Have you no other colors?”

  “Brighter garments seem inappropriate for prison. Or for someone mourning massacres.”

  Tek An’s advisors muttered among themselves. The king waved them to silence. “Have we not decided to end his rebellion? Be still and let us speak!”

  He faced Kien again, ill-tempered. “Your presumptuous country has declared war against us. For defending ourselves! Because you are our kinsman, we believe it proper to tell you our plans. You will be joining our army.”

  “Not likely!” Kien snapped.

  “Unarmed.” A malicious gleam brightened Tek An’s tired eyes. “Clothed as a footsoldier. Unrecognizable to our enemies.”

  Kien controlled himself. “You hope my own countrymen will slaughter me in battle?”

  “They will.”

  The heir limped forward to stand near his father. “Unless I kill you first. You and that little witch.”

  Ela. The whelp continued to threaten Ela? Not that she couldn’t defend herself, but the heir’s malevolence toward the young woman was despicable. Kien smiled, making his voice too polite to be mistaken for concern. “I heard you fell down some stairs during a sad misadventure. Are you healed from your injuries?”

  “Enough to cut you to pieces,” the young fool promised.

  Tek An shook his head at his son. “You will not accompany us—have we not commanded your obedience in this?”

  “My lord-father, I cannot stay here like a coward while everyone else claims the glory of conquering the Tracelands!”

  “You will remain here! If you wish to argue, you must leave this council now.”

  The heir sulked. His father smiled at Kien. Not benevolently. “Thus, the gods repay you for all your wrongdoings. Unless you perish along the way, you will certainly die in battle.”

  “I will certainly not.” If these fools supposed Kien would falter, whine, and beg for mercy, they were going to be disappointed. “Your gods don’t exist. However, if they did, they would be nothing beside Parne’s Infinite.”

  No doubt Ela would be delighted to hear him. Kien continued, straight-faced. “I also remember a certain prediction. Something about you living just long enough, O King, to see your son die? I’ll be interested to see who prevails. Istgard’s gods, or Parne’s Infinite.”

  “Remove him from our presence!” Tek An snappped. “Prison has driven him mad.”

  Kien indulged himself with kind-sounding partings. “My compliments, by the way, on the continued cleanliness of your fountain, O King. Marvelous, isn’t it?”

  Tsir Aun was already hauling Kien out. Over his shoulder, Kien taunted, “I wish you a peaceful sleep, cousin!”

  The crown commander gave Kien a sobering shake. “Consider yourself fortunate that I wasn’t ordered to have you beaten!” But as they descended the palace steps, he asked quietly, “Are you now pledged to Parne’s Infinite?”

  The man was Istgardian. Why tell him anything?

  Kien stomped through the courtyard. He couldn’t help but admire the fountain—its gemlike brilliance flawed only by Tek An’s tarnished statue.

  No doubt the king shuddered every time he saw the fountain and his statue.

  Kien grinned.

  Shivering, Ela tried to burrow more deeply into her pallet. Sleep finally settled upon her, easing the chill and her heartache. She’d lost Tzana. . . .

  High, piercing screams shattered the darkness. Jolted awake, Ela opened her eyes and sat up, listening.

  A child’s terrified screams.

  “Tzana!”

  16

  Tzana!” Ela pounded on her cell’s door with both fists. “Let me out! I have to reach my sister!”

  Tzana’s screams neared, so shrill and desperate that Ela thought her own knees would buckle beneath her fear. “Tzana!”

  A guard’s roughened, surly voice snarled, “Move away!”

  Ela retreated. The door squeaked open. The guard stepped inside and brandished a torch at Ela, a silent command for her to stay put.

  Tzana’s cries ceased. Ela heard her little sister sniffling and gulping outside in the passageway. Syb’s voice scolded gently, “I cannot believe you’d create such a scene! Do you hate me so much?”

  “N-no,” Tzana stuttered. “I l-love you. But I n-need to see E-Ela!”

  Syb swept into Ela’s cell, her hair in two disheveled plaits, her tunic trailing, a long mantle pinned haphazardly at her shoulders. In her arms, she held the distraught Tzana. Syb scowled at Ela. “She wouldn’t be calmed until she saw you.”

  Coughs and complaints echoed up and down the passage as the other prisoners stirred, no doubt wakened by Tzana’s screams. Ela took her sister from the warden’s indignant wife.

  Tzana hugged Ela’s neck. Ela patted her small back and murmured to Syb, “Thank you. I’ll keep her quiet.”

  “Be sure you do. She needs her rest.” Syb rubbed Tzana’s arm. “I hope you’re happy now—screaming to wake the dead. Such a fright! I’ll visit you in the morning, Tzana.”

  “Yes, m-ma’am.” Tzana sounded remorseful.

  The warden’s wife rustled out, and the guard followed with his torch. He slammed the cell door shut and thudded the bolt into place.

  Ela stood in the now-hushed and dark cell and held her sister. Tzana sucked in a quivery breath, then sighed and rested her head on Ela’s shoulder. She was heavier, Ela realized. And she smelled sweet, as if she’d been rubbed with flower oils. Poor, pampered little girl. Ela smiled. “What was all that dreadful screaming about?”

  “You left me!”

  “I’ve been right here.”

  “No, you left me for real! And you took Pet.”

  “Ah. That’s it. You thought I took Pet.”

  “And you left.” Tzana gulped. “I saw you leave, and someone said, ‘You will not see her again in this life’ and you took Pet. . . .” Her words became whimpers.

  “Tzana,” Ela rocked the little girl in her arms, soothing her. “Was this a bad dream?”

  “M-maybe. But it was the worst dream. You can’t leave without me!”

  “I won’t. I promise. But we will leave this place very soon. Are you sure you want to come with me? You’d be warmer and better fed with Syb.”

  “It’s not the same,” Tzana protested. “She’s not you!”

  Ela gave her sister a kiss and knelt to settle her onto the pallet. “Hush now and move over. There’s room for us both. Do you feel better?”

  Tzana sniffled moistly. “Mmm-hmm. You won’t leave without me?”

  “I won’t leave without you.” Ela tucked the coverlet around them both and snuggled Tzana close.

  A chance dream? Ela smiled, recognizing her Creator’s care. “Thank You!”

/>   “You’re welcome,” Tzana mumbled, already sounding half asleep.

  Ela relaxed. Raindrops pattered against the stones outside, filling the air with the scent of moisture. Infinite? You planned this separation from Tzana. Why?

  You had duties to fulfill, and she needed to rest and recover from her injuries. Moreover, Syb and her husband needed your sister’s company.

  Were the warden and Syb so burdened that they needed reasons to laugh? She hadn’t noticed. But the Infinite did. Had He allowed Tzana to draw the couple nearer to Him?

  Silent affirmation passed through Ela’s thoughts.

  Comforted, Ela drifted toward sleep, briefly aware of the rain intensifying. Spring rain. In her dreams the lands encompassing Parne bloomed with plants that hadn’t been seen for years. And Father and Mother walked through the dazzling fields, gathering flowers.

  “I’m in disgrace,” Tek Lara whispered to Ela as they stood beside the hearth, patting flat rounds of bread onto the griddles. To Ela’s dismay, the young noblewoman began to cry, tears streaking her gentle face. “I spoke to the king openly, as you suggested. He’s banished me from his presence for daring to praise the Infinite aloud. And . . . he took my father’s sword, saying I’m unworthy of such a treasure!”

  Ela blinked at a silent vision, seeing the sword removed from Tek An’s death-stilled grasp, then reverently placed in Lara’s hands. An image she couldn’t mention to Lara—the noblewoman would be too shocked by the vision’s final implications. “You’ll receive the sword again, from someone you can trust with your life.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I’ve said. So don’t grieve that you’ve lost the sword. Instead, rejoice that it will be returned to you, with the Infinite’s blessing.”

  “Then I must content myself with trusting the Infinite.” Obviously shifting her thoughts away from her banishment and the confiscated sword, Tek Lara smiled. “Speaking of blessings, I called on Judge Ket Behl yesterday. I’ve become friends with him and his family.”

  “And?”

  “Ela of Parne.” Lara’s wet-lashed eyes shone. “Why are you asking what you probably already know? He and his entire family now trust the Infinite. They begged me to visit them again tomorrow.”