Prophecy's Promise (Prophecy of the Edges Book 1)

by Lauren Amundson

  Meena convinced me to wear a red dress with a very low back line. She claimed the color worked nicely with my dark locks, which she partially pulled back into a bun, letting the rest of my hair fall in curls.

  “I think it's too tight.” I gasped as Meena laced me into the dress.

  “It's the fashion to be hardly able to breathe.” Meena giggled. I glared.

  The party started out about as boring as I had anticipated. The only person I knew was Altis. He acted every bit the nephew of the queen, talking and laughing with countless people. I sat at my seat next to his empty chair at the table for at least an hour before dinner started as he intermingled with various clusters of people.

  I noticed how every group seemed to turn toward him as he entered the circle. Ladies smiled and men nodded enthusiastically. Despite myself, I was intrigued, wondering what they could be talking about.

  Apparently all the nobility currently at court were in attendance, but I only recognized a handful of people, including a few from the audience earlier. I’d never had the need to understand the current political landscape. I sat, observing everyone. I enjoy people watching, and I’d never had the opportunity to observe this particular sub-section of the population. Frequently, I noticed people glance in my direction and then continue talking amongst themselves. Meena had warned me that the court gossip would travel fast. She said that, as Apprentice to Altis Acrovena and a Mist Apparationist, I was quite the talk of the city.

  “Hello, Rabbit,” Prince Jaysen said, breaking my thoughts. I quickly stood up and bowed from the waist as his station deserved. “This is my friend Adine.” He motioned with his head toward a broad-shouldered young man with the amber skin tone typical of Dybreakeans. Adine bobbed his head in an informal bow. He must be a very high-ranking noble to give such a cursory greeting. “His tutor, and most of the Dybreakean court, is borderline obsessed with you.”

  “Adine, you study my work?” I asked, surprised.

  “He tries. I believe that he can’t understand a word of it.” Jaysen smiled at his friend.

  Adine must have noticed the confusion on my face. “I most recently read your paper on Complex Probabilities. My tutor had wanted me to write a summary on it.” He spoke with a thick Dybreakean accent.

  “Eh, I wrote that almost a year ago. Some of my newer work on Linguistics is better. I switched my focus.”

  “Such a waste to send you out and lose you here at court.”

  “I know! I had some other theories I wanted to work on,” I said, assuming I’d found someone to commiserate with.

  “I’m not talking about your work. I’m talking about you.” He smirked. “But, please forgive me; I do not mean to fluster you. I have something to speak with you about,” Adine said, returning to seriousness. “Dybreakea does not have any formal higher education. I am tasked with convincing you to start a university in Dybreakea.”

  “If this is the course you wish to take, I can make it happen,” the prince assured me. “You would not be a Gryshelm Mist Weaver Initiate, but you could start a proper university in Dybreakea. The diplomatic implications would be powerful enough to convince my mother to release you from your duties to Altis.”

  This could be my answer. I wouldn’t be the youngest Scholar Initiate, but I could spend the rest of my days leading the knowledge of an entire nation. But then, which did I want to be more: a Mist Weaver Initiate or a scholar? My answer shocked even me. “You honor me greatly, Your Highness. I would be pleased to discuss more about the matter, after I’ve fulfilled my duties to Gryshelm and have been Initiated.”

  The prince’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he did not respond. Adine bowed, smirking slightly. “A Scholar Warrior? How intriguing. Very well, the offer will remain open to you when you return from your journeys.” The two took their leave and merged back into the crowd, talking briefly with various nobles, some I knew and some I did not.

  I did feel proud of my decision. I would go out into the world, help Altis, even though I did not want to, and then, once The Edge was fixed, I would lead great learning. A sense of peace settled over me. And I understood a measure of myself that I’d not before. This whole time, it was my feeling powerless that had been bothering me. Now that I had options, it didn’t feel so stifling to be forced down this path. And, thankfully, I did have the ability to return to my studies after everything.

  I was not happy. But I was content.

  Altis eventually came over to his seat as the plates began to emerge from the kitchen.

  “Enjoying the party?” he asked.

  “Not really,” I responded.

  Altis didn’t reply. He didn’t say anything else to me for the rest of the meal. Instead, he spoke to the Dybreakean man on his other side. The dinner was the finest I’d had, probably ever. After we had eaten, Queen Mauzaca stood up to thank the Dybreakean ambassadors for their goodwill and remarked how happy Gryshelm was to take their hand in friendship.

  The attendees clapped and shouted approval. Altis walked over to the Dybreakean princess, Krystin, and bowed, offering her his hand. She was very pale for a Dybreakean. Half of her honey-colored hair hung freely down her back in swooping spirals, while the other half was coiled atop her head. A pearl dangled from each ear, bringing attention to her slender neck. Giggling, she placed her tiny hand in his, and he led her to the open floor.

  And then the dancing began. The ladies looked like elegant flowers with their dresses twirling around them. Altis led the Dybreakean princess through twirl after twirl. She seemed scarcely past girlhood. Altis towered over her petite figure. Their movements reminded me of the dancing figures in Meena’s music box. With nearly unnatural perfection, they glided across the dance floor, each step in time with the rhythm of the music.

  Unable to sit alone in my chair for another minute, I got up and walked around the room. I could hear the whispers in my wake. It reminded me too much of the day that I’d first come to the Keep. I found a quiet corner covered by curtains and slipped into it. There was a bench running the length of the wall and I sat down. I desperately wished that I had brought a book with me. The pins from my coiffed hair poked at my scalp. I wanted to be in my room with my hair down and these fancy clothes back in Meena’s closet where they belong.

  Not a minute later, Prince Jaysen slipped into my corner. Flustered, I stood up and tried to curtsy, wondering if I was in trouble.

  “No need to show formalities when no one can see us.” He stank of gin, but his words were not slurred. He was not as tall as Altis, nor was his features nearly as handsome. But the stamp of kinship was in the angle of his cheekbones, the dark black of his hair, and the icy blue of his eyes.

  “Your Highness?” I asked, confused.

  “There is a conspiracy in my court, and it is centered around the Weavers. My unnamed source that has been feeding me information said I could trust you. I was unsure because you seem too timid to be of much use. That is, until Adine gave you the option to turn away from all this, and yet you chose to stay the course, even though you do not wish to become a Warrior. Why did you turn him down?”

  I couldn’t answer his question as I did not know why myself. “Your Highness, you are the prince. Could you not confront the Weavers?”

  “Even a prince needs more proof than whispers in the dark when dealing with people who could take over the kingdom in a blink of an eye if they wished.”

  “No one has the power to do that,” I said slowly.

  “Power isn’t in who wears the crown.” He paused for a moment, looking at me, considering me, just as he had in the Council room a few hours earlier. “Ah, but now I see a question on your face, little Rabbit. Why am I asking for your help, and why did my source suggest you? The culprit is either my cousin or your aunt, and you are close to both of them.”

  “It’s not Nazarie,” I said, fiercely.

  “See, that’s loyalty on your face,” he whispered, “not proof. But even you have to admit there are some things in her story th
at don’t quite add up. Furthermore, Altis never wanted to be the Lead Initiate. He is currently working on a plan to hand over control of the Weavers, so my current suspicions are with your aunt.”

  “Altis loves control. That must be a ruse,” I insisted.

  “Not so rabbit-like when it comes to allegations about your family?” Jaysen said, then turned to look over his shoulder at the curtain. “Ah, sorry about this.” He slid his hand around my waist and onto my bottom and pulled me to him. I protested and tried to squirm away. At that moment, Altis flew the curtain aside.

  “Cousin, I can see why you picked this one,” the prince slurred as he tripped backward against the wall.

  “Jaysen, you're drunk,” Altis accused.

  “So?”

  “So, get away from my Apprentice.” Altis growled and stepped closer to the prince; leveraging the couple of inches of height he had on Jaysen to look as intimidating as possible.

  The prince let go of me and stepped back, hands in the air. “Didn't realize apprentices were off limits.”

  “Leave,” Altis hissed, stepping protectively between the prince and me. Prince Jaysen stumbled back toward the crowd, turning around only once to wink at me. He was not groping me, he was warning me and then playing dumb. He pulled off the dumb part exceedingly well.

  “I'm sorry. I was trying to get away from everything, and then he came back here and...” I began.

  Altis held his hand up. “It's not your fault. You’re out of your element. I’m sorry for throwing you in to this.” He sounded genuinely concerned. “You don’t have to stay.”

  “Oh! Really? Thank you.” I hurried out of the ballroom before he could change his mind.

  Conspiracy is a very big word. What need would Weavers have to rule? Ruling would distract us from learning and practicing the Mist. We were all quite content to live within the confines of the rule of the queen, protecting the kingdom when the need arose, and living in relative luxury when it did not. Altis had already stolen the Weavers from Nazarie, and I did not believe for a second that he was interested in giving up his position. Was he contemplating stealing the kingdom from Prince Jaysen? But that didn’t make sense, either. If he wanted to steal the kingdom, he wouldn’t be setting off with only me. He’d take scores of Warrior Weavers with him and then return as the queen lay on her deathbed. Jaysen must honestly suspect Altis, or he wouldn’t have pretended to be drunkenly clutching at me.

  The prince’s source had to be wrong. Who could possibly accuse my aunt while at the same time be confident that I could be trusted? I would never doubt Nazarie. I owed Nazarie my life.

  Directly outside the entrance to the Apprentice Corridor, Scholar Shezdon stood, holding a large package, wrapped in a brown tattered rag. “Hailey, where have you been?” he whispered, looking over his shoulder. I’d not seen him since he stepped in to help my class the morning after my Mist Apparition.

  “Long story,” I sighed. “Thanks again for taking over my classes. How are the students?”

  “The children are fine. But that’s not why I am here.” His bushy brows were constricted into one long line. “Take this. Keep it hidden until you find someone who can read it.” He handed me the package. I could feel a very large book through the rag.

  “What are you talking about? What is this?”

  “Promise me,” he insisted.

  “I'd promise you anything. But what’s this about?”

  “It is about a prophecy to heal The Edge.”

  “I’ve read everything there is to read about The Edge. I’ve never heard of a prophecy.”

  “That’s because they tried to erase it from history.”

  “Shezdon, you are scaring me, who are ‘they’?”

  “The White Knights. They were involved in your accident.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t have enough time. I explained as much as I could in my note. Do not show this to any Initiate. There is no way to know who is involved or who is being watched.”

  “Shezdon, White Knights are myths.”

  “As were Mist Apparitions. You don’t have to believe me. Take care of the book. When you meet someone who can read it, give it to them.”

  “Are you the prince’s informant?”

  “No. I don’t know how anyone else could suspect.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There isn’t time. No matter what happens to me, do not tell any Initiate about this book.”

  “Shezdon, you really are scaring me now.”

  “I mean it, no matter what happens to me, keep this a secret.”

  “It’s just a book, isn’t it?”

  He looked at me sadly. “You would have made a great Scholar, but you will be good at anything you try.” He kissed me on the cheek. “Secret. No matter what,” he repeated and then hurried away.

  I took the package back to my room and opened it. Inside, I found a note and a very large, tattered book. On the cover, there were two lines. One line was in a language I had never seen before, which was unusual. The other was in Cuneiform, our most ancient language dating prior to the Dark Ages. It read, “The Edging of the World.” I opened the book to skim through the pages, but I did not recognize the lettering. I could only assume that it was the same language as on the front cover.

  Intrigued, I opened the note.

  Hailey-

  You hold before you the secrets to destroying The Edge. The White Knights are looking for this book. They are an ancient sect of Weavers who are both powerful and dangerous. Under no circumstances can they recover this book. I was part of the White Knights, but I stopped believing in their mission years ago, but had no ability to break free. Strong Mist binds me from being able to reveal the others in the Brotherhood; else, I would name everyone that you should watch for. All I can tell you is to trust no Initiate.

  I do not know if they will suspect that I gave this book to you. As the Custodian of the Book, I should be unable to speak to anyone outside of the White Knights about this book, but since the night of your apparition, I couldn’t think of doing anything except giving this book to you. Something is changing, and you are in the middle of it. I know that you will not let my sacrifice be wasted. Please, I beg of you, trust no Initiate.

  - Shezdon

  Chapter 4

  For several hours, I flipped through the book’s yellowed pages. I perched over it, taking notes on characters that repeated frequently and searching for any pattern—anything that might help decode the mystery language. In the morning, I would have to take the book to Nazarie, despite Shezdon’s insistence. As the Lead Scholar, Nazarie deserved to be notified about this treasure. But for now, the puzzle called to be solved. I flipped through the delicate petal-like pages of the book, wondering what secrets were locked within the text.

  I wondered if these secrets could have anything to do with Prince Jaysen’s theories about a conspiracy. But this book was easily a thousand years old. How could any of this information be related to a modern conspiracy? And why did Shezdon keep mentioning that something might happen to him?

  I kept tossing ideas around, but everything seemed outside the realm of possibilities. Were there some Weavers who were trying to align themselves with these White Knights and overrun the rule of the court? Is that how Altis managed to usurp the position of Lead Initiate? If things were connected, then this book had to be about the White Knights—if White Knights even existed.

  I don’t know when I fell asleep, because the next thing I remembered was the Mist Apparition. “The Book! The Book! Don’t give up the book! Tell no Initiate!” I saw Shezdon. I saw the book. I saw dozens of other images flash, far too numerous to count and flipping too fast to recognize.

  I sat bolt upright in my bed. Shezdon’s book lay open beneath me. Mist swirled around my room, but not as thickly as it had after my last apparition. Whatever sent the apparition sounded… scared. How could a Guardian be scared?

  I heard a knock at my door, and Meena rushed in
. “Have you heard?”

  “No! What!”

  “Scholar Shezdon died last night.”

  “What?” There was no way that the book, the Apparition, and his death were coincidences. How could he be not there? I only saw him a few hours ago. The whole concept seemed surreal.

  Meena gaped at the Mist. “Guardians’ balls,” she whispered.

  I glared at her curse, but didn’t correct her. Bigger things were going on. And at the moment I wasn’t so sure I wanted to give any honor to the Guardians. It was their fault that I wasn’t studying to be a Scholar. “What about Shezdon? What happened?”

  “Was this from an Apparition?” She went over to the Mist and swooshed her hands through it. It moved like thick smoke.

  “What happened to Shezdon?” I repeated. The Guardians could wait.

  “Nazarie is calling it old age. When my father heard, he sent me a note that said some of the soldiers don’t believe it was a natural death. He warned me to keep my head down. Something very big is going on.”

  “I think I know why Shezdon died.” I shut the book and told Meena about my meeting with Shezdon last night and the Mist Apparition that I had. “And it said exactly what Shezdon had said: to tell no Initiate. Why would it say that?”

  She sat down on my bed and stroked the book gently, her scholarly curiosity overcoming her fear. “The Edging of the World? What is this?” She opened the book to a random page. “Wait… can you read this?”

  I shook my head. “No. It must be a dead language. The characters are so completely different from anything else I’ve seen. Some of the characters remind me of ancient Cuneiform, but not enough to give me even a tiny hint as to what the words mean.”

  “What?” she hissed. I am not sure what her expression held—some combination of fear, surprise, and shock. Her fingers jumped back from the book as if it had burned her.