Prophecy of the Flame

by Lynn Hardy

  Power surges from me. I keep my thoughts centered on the force field spell and outside manipulation. The shining barrier bursting to life is an updated force field with the added benefit of flexibility.

  Kyle, I need you… If I can find you maybe I can find a way to bring you out to this magical world. Kneeling down next to the rock I place my hands on the stone.

  “The laws of magic, which rule this place,

  Say that, once, I may bridge time and space.

  So now I weave into your substance

  Memories of my Earth in abundance.

  When the word transdimensional is said,

  You will assume the burden in my stead.

  Using the info that you now possess,

  Finding my world so I don’t transgress.

  Open a gateway to the land of my birth,

  Keep it stable until all has passed your girth.

  You will deliver what rests upon your surface

  To he who’s present in the memory’s preface.”

  I push power into the stone. My mind centers on the most vivid memories of my life, starting with the first time I saw my husband: Huddled under a blanket, Kyle’s ebony head pops through the door. “Come on in,” I invite, wishing I hadn’t taken off my makeup before bed.

  My skin tingles into numbness. The stroll down memory lane continues until I have imbued the rock with a third of my energy reserves.

  Light-headed with exhilaration, I hold onto the slippery threads of power. Opening my eyes, I whisper, “Sight.” The stone now glows a bright blue. Squinting, I discern a weblike pattern of blue laser light spreading through the boulder. Makes sense. A spell is like a chain linked together, interwoven. All parts of a single enchantment have to be connected for it to work.

  From a pocket hidden within my robe, I remove the large bundle of papers addressed to my husband. Placing the memoirs on the center of the stone, I close my eyes. With a silent prayer, I say, “Transdimensional.”

  The boulder’s light intensifies. The pattern of the web blurs. The magic within me feels the memories come alive, spreading outward… or maybe inward. The search for a match has begun. My heart surges with joy as a connection is made. It has located Kyle. I’ve found my home!

  A corner of the power web expands, encompassing the letter as magic forms a link between the two worlds. A streak of cobalt force zips past my shoulder. The force field bends and contorts then slings the foreign energy back in the direction it came from.

  Refocusing on the portal spell, I notice the color of the rock has gone up a notch. I sense something is amiss. I wrench my consciousness away from the death throes of the misdirected enchantment. A wave of dizziness consumes me as the letter twists, crumpling as if a giant pair of hands are wringing water from a dishtowel. A red glow mixes with the blue. The radiant hue turns purple as the rock heats. The pages of the letter darken. Within seconds, the entire manuscript bursts into flames.

  I fall to my knees. Through a teary blur, I watch the destruction of the spell I hoped would bring my husband to join me.

  I refocus on the world as the azure radiance bleeds from the stone. The rock shines an angry crimson. The surface of the boulder begins to roll and bend. The stone liquefies, spreading like butter too long in the sun. Flames flicker to life where the molten rock touches dry winter grass.

  I jump to my feet as the ring of fire expands. I need a water spell! I look up into the clear, blue sky for help. No clouds. A rain spell will take too long to work.

  Unable to think of a quick rhyme, I charge the flames. Stomping like a Native American in a war dance, tears of frustration keep the smoke from my eyes as I smother the misbegotten fruits of my labor.

  “Flames are spreading. The situation is dire.

  Without oxygen, you’ll light no funeral pyre.”

  The desired results are firmly implanted in my mind for the quickest spell I have ever composed. Though parts of the riddle makes little sense, the flames are extinguished in a blink.

  With my jaw hanging, I stare at the deflated slab, puddled where the boulder once stood. So much destruction from the dissolution of one spell! My mouth snaps shut. I grind my teeth. The iron resolve that got me through a troubled childhood reasserts itself.

  “So much for my first attempt,” I grumble, scrubbing moisture from my face.

  I hear bells chime in the distance as my eyes travel outward from the burned circle of grass. Noon already! Looking down, I notice the bottoms of my pants are singed halfway up my shins.

  Turning on my heel, I leave the ruins of the transdimensional spell, power walking toward the castle. Let’s see, where’s that entrance Alex used?

  Chapter Seventeen

  I reenter the castle from a new direction, confident I can either make my way to my chambers or ask for directions. Turning left as soon as my eyes adjust to the dim interior, I see a staircase leading upward. The distinct ringing sound of metal on metal reaches my ears. I freeze in place with my foot on the first step.

  Combat instincts come alive, senses heightening with the anticipation of trouble. I gather magical energy around me. Muttering, I begin the spell I created for the Renaissance Games.

  “Life is precious and the danger apparent,

  So saying ‘cloak’ will make me transparent.

  To once again make myself seen,

  Using ‘uncloak’ will sound so keen.”

  Sweat springs to my brow. Even though the enchantment is a minor one, I feel the drain on my powers. The misenchantment has cost me in more ways than one. A tingling sensation spreads through me. I whisper, “Cloak.” I hope this medieval world can comprehended the Trekkie reference to the Klingons’ main form of defense! A devil’s grin spreads across my face as I look at the floor where my feet should be.

  Nimble as a cat, I edge my way past the stairs. On tiptoe, I sneak around the corner. The wall to my left has narrow gaps stretching from floor to ceiling. Closer now to the sounds of battle, I distinguish two tones in the grunts accompanying the noise.

  In the cavernous room, five high-set windows let in a good amount of sunlight. One figure towers over another figure by more than a foot. The odd pair, covered in white, padded outfits, square off in what is obviously practice.

  A son of a noble receiving instruction in the sword? I am about to release the invisibility spell when an all-too-familiar voice rings out.

  “Now I know you can do better than that. I thought you, at least, would not treat me like an invalid!” teases Prince Alex.

  “Your Highness,” begins a voice that I can’t quite place, “a mere servant… would not dare…” It continues, pausing in between swings, “to judge the health… of the crown prince.”

  Intrigued, I remain hidden.

  “‘Your Highness is it now?”

  “Of course, Your Highness… a friend would not… keep a friend waiting… for over a mark… without even an apology.” Is he sparring with a woman?

  “My punctuality has never troubled you before.” Alex parries his attacker’s efforts. Not in the least winded, he continues to address his opponent, even managing to shrug while doing it. “I am sorry. It could not be helped.” He gibes, “A romantic tryst with the archmage was a necessity.”

  Not a wise move if she is anything like the kind of “friend” you want me to be. You may be a prince, but you still make the typical mistakes only a man can make!

  The swordswoman reaches to her mask. In a flourish, she flings the covering to the floor. Andrayia swings her sword around in a hard slash at Alex’s arm. A flurry of attacks follows, proving she is a true expert with the sword. The prince manages to parry the enthusiastic charge, but his breathing is no longer quite so relaxed.

  “It is about time! I thought we would… never get to… some real practicing.” He reaches up to remove his helmet.

  “Is that what I am to you now? Practice? And after barely two days…” His mistress steps back. Her dull practice sword clatters across the floor as she
flings it from her. When she continues, I sense tears in her voice. “Well, you can get the archmage to be your sparring partner, as well as your wife!”

  She turns to go. Another sword clangs, as it hits the floor. The prince grabs Andrayia’s arm, swinging her to face him. “Is that what is behind your mood?”

  I feel Andrayia’s heart breaking as well as Alex’s compassion and love for the diminutive woman. “I am a fool. It was insensitive of me to taunt you. That is all it was: a bad jest. The councilors kept me. That is all. Nothing more.” Gathering her in his arms, he strokes her hair.

  Holding her out from him, he looks down into her eyes. I perceive more honesty from him than ever before as he continues in a voice I strain to hear, “I may have to bed and even marry that witch, but my heart will always belong to you, my love.”

  That pig! Here he is, trying to seduce me, all the while stringing her along! My eavesdropping becomes uncomfortable as Andrayia falls into his arms. Turning from the window, I lean my back against the wall.

  He does love her—that much is painfully clear—and she loves him more than is good for her. But still, how could he take such pleasure from chasing my skirt while feeling such love for her!

  He’s a complete jerk! A rutting PIG! But wouldn’t all men be if society said it was okay to sleep with anyone when you get the urge? What kind of world have I fallen into!

  I start to leave when Alex speaks once more. “My love, I sincerely apologize for my tardiness, but I am afraid I must go. My father has asked to lunch with me.”

  “Then go.” Andrayia eases away from him. “He won’t be as forgiving as I, if you arrive late.”

  Alex gives his love a quick peck then dashes from the room. I stand stock-still, not daring to breathe. The prince lopes past me. The breeze of his passing ruffles my robe. Holding my position a few more minutes, I give him time to get a head start. Before I can be on my way, a figure approaches from the opposite end of the hallway. He enters the room the prince has vacated.

  “Your Majesty.” Andrayia pauses in her gathering of the equipment to bow her head with a deep curtsy.

  “Andrayia.” King Arturo’s tone is curt. The distaste in his voice is obvious as he continues. “We see you are still practicing the sword with our son.”

  Taking a cloth sack out of his robe, coins jingle as they hit the floor. “Compensation. Your presence here is no longer desirable. We expect your rooms to be vacated by tomorrow morning. Make no mistake: attempt to use Alexandros to sway us, and the life of your son will be forfeited.”

  Having given his orders, King Arturo turns on his heel. He strides past me on his way to the stairs. Andrayia collapses to her knees, burying her face in her hands. Hmph. Can’t have the mistress distracting the prince while he’s courting ‘the witch.’

  Marching into the room, I whisper, “Uncloak.” Clattering fills the air as Andrayia scrambles to her feet, hastily wiping her eyes. Her feelings about me burn so strong, you can almost smell them. She curtsies. Great! She hates me. And I’ve done nothing! An inspiration sparks. Nothing yet, anyway.

  “So which are you? The weeping, spurned maiden or the warrior I saw earlier.” I use my hardest, most sarcastic voice, turning my vocal cords into a whip.

  Her chin comes up. Defiance sparks in her blue eyes, but her tone is polite when she speaks. “Whatever you wish, milady.”

  “There’s some fire left in you, then?” My voice softens a little. “One more question: Your love for the prince is obvious, as well as his for you, but how strong is your love?”

  “I would die for him,” she proclaims, a little hatred creeping into her voice.

  “You may have to,” I mumble. Fear rises swiftly in her, but she stands her ground. “Good, you are brave as well.”

  I roll my eyes at the woman who is preparing herself to grab a sword in self-defense. “No, I’m not going to kill you. And rest assured, I have no desire nor any intention of marrying your prince.” Shock, disbelief, curiosity, along with a slight easing of fear. “In fact, if you will do as I say, you have my word that I’ll do everything in my power to see you betrothed to him, not me.”

  “I will do anything you say if there is the slightest chance it will lead to our union,” she declares, though she still radiates the same emotions to a lesser degree.

  The world turns white. I blink to clear the spots as the premonition takes over my world. My presence hovers over an octagonal room. The pews are lined with nobles in their finest. Walking stately down the aisle, making a beeline for the altar, is Alex. Next to him is my likeness. The vulgar parody of a wedding dress makes me look as if I am going to explode through the bulging middle. The radiant glow of expectancy is missing. Gloom hovers around me like a disturbed nest of killer bees. A third of the way down the aisle, the bride wavers. Now a regal blonde who can be none other than Andrayia is striding along with Alex.

  White blinds me once more. Knowledge forms.

  “More than a chance, I’d say. But it will be dangerous. It may even cost you your life.” Can I handle having her death on my hands if things go wrong?

  She drops to her knees, whispering, “What is it you wish of me?” A slight hope rises within her, but she is still dominated by fear and hatred.

  Words of rhyme blaze to life in my mind. I begin to chant.

  “Warrior, these clothes will never do.

  Speed and freedom are needed too.

  Stronger than steel, so death will be cheated,

  Soft as silk when protection is unneeded.

  To overcome the trials you face,

  You lack in muscle but have grace.

  The molecules will rearrange.

  Your sword I now also change.

  Now titanium and razor sharp,

  So with your life you won’t part.”

  The outfit and the new sword are implanted in my mind as I set the enchantment. Andrayia lets out a gasp as her clothes transform from the bulky sparring garb to black suede, loose-fitting slacks, complete with a matching cloak and a scabbard for her sword.

  “In case you missed it, I addressed the populace today. I asked any man, woman, or youth with the ability to wield a weapon to report to the barracks. You now fit that description. Since the king approved my request, I see no reason why you can’t move your things into the vacant wing of the new barracks across from the infirmary. That is now the women’s quarters.” My voice is smug as she rises, looking over her new duds. “No demons’ claw will penetrate those clothes. I’d be careful with that sword. It will be lighter now and much stronger. In addition, I will see to it you are given special training from my men.”

  Stepping back, I size her up. “If you survive the upcoming battle, I give it a three-to-one chance it will be you Alex takes as a bride, not me. Are you willing to stand at my side, facing a horde of demons in the battle foretold by your prophecy?”

  “Gladly will I face the most evil demon, milady. However, there is the matter of my son. What of him? Will his life be forfeit? Will he be required to fight by your side as well?”

  “Of course not.” What kind of monster does she think I am? “Where is he now?”

  “Currently he is being watched by a friend.” She eyes me warily.

  My eyes turn blank as I search for an answer. “Can this friend care for him while you train for battle?”

  “I believe she would if told of the importance.” Andrayia nods.

  “For my plan to work, no one must know of our bargain. You can stress the importance of your staying close to the prince but no more.”

  She holds out the bag of coins. When I make no move to take them, she explains, “Payment for your assistance.”

  “That’s unnecessary. What I give, I give freely. Besides, you take much more risk than I.” Her hatred has abated a little, but mistrust rises with my statement.

  “If we are to have a bargain, a payment must be made, milady.”

  I take the bag from her, shrugging. “Your ways differ from mine.
If you wish to seal this bargain with a payment, let it be done. With this payment and your aid in the war against the demons, I agree to do all in my power to aid you in your pursuit of marriage to Prince Alexandros.” I add, “My time is short. Lead the way to your friend. Then I will take you to my friends for training.”

  Placing her sword in the scabbard, she ushers me farther down the hall. Entering a door about halfway down, I follow her into a classroom. Several well-dressed children sit quietly at six short tables. The teacher curtsies, lowering her head as I enter.

  I dip my chin, acknowledging the teacher’s show of respect. “Andrayia, why don’t the two of you go into the hallway? I’ll watch the children while you make the needed arrangements.”

  The two adults leave the room. Ten pairs of eyes are fixated on me with awe and a little trepidation, except one beautiful, emerald pair. I lock eyes with Prince Alexandros’s son. He smiles.

  “Hello, Andertz. Tell me, what were you studying before the teacher left?” I squat to his level.

  “History. About the olden times.” His comprehension astounds me.

  “Well, I don’t know any of your history. Were you learning it in songs?” I ask.

  “We do songs tomorrow. Today we are doing history,” interjects a cute, brown-haired girl sitting beside him.

  “Oh, I see.” I stand so I can address the entire class. “Where I come from, before all the people learned to write, we passed on our history in songs. These tales we call folksongs.”

  A blond boy raises his hand. When I nod at him, he implores timidly, “That sounds like a lot more fun than boring, old history. Could you sing one for us?”

  Grins break out around the room. I smile back. If I can sing my nieces to sleep, surely I can sing for these kids.

  “Hmm, let me see if I can remember one.” A Chet Atkins song springs to mind.

  In my native tongue I whisper,

  “Singing for these kids I will now do,

  With better rhythm and tone control too.”

  Now instead of being adequate, maybe I can give a good showing of one of those old tunes. Which one… ah, yes—perfect!