Over her, giving courage to her as she gave birth to her son, was that son's father and her husband: a man of proud, handsome features some years older than she, with hair as golden as the sun itself, long and straight. He wore no beard, but his strength and ferocity were unquestioned by all who knew him.
It was he who helped his wife give birth to her child; it was he who delivered the boy and gave him to his mother to cradle in her arms.
“Gramling,” she whispered sweetly, rocking the babe and cooing to it softly. Then the pains wracked her again, and more violent than before. Her husband quickly took the child and handed it to a man in a gray cloak who stood behind him.
It was Traveller. He glanced up, aware of the one who witnessed his story so far in the future, and his eyes spoke words his mouth had never said.
Watch, Prophet, they said, And learn from whence you came.
The prophet watched.
The woman cried out in pain, clutching at the rough sheets around her as if she would tear them with her bare hands. Her husband put his hand in hers and squeezed it tight, whispering words of comfort and strength to her as best he knew how.
Then, after an agony unimaginable, she gave birth for a second time.
“Gramlen,” she said. A chill wind seemed to blow at the prophet's face...
...As he realized that he was witnessing his own birth.
Gramlen, he thought to himself. My name is not Gribly. It is Gramlen. And the other child is Gram... the Pit Strider... my brother.
“Gram,” whispered the woman, stronger now, “Let the Aura bless our children.” Her husband smiled, nodded, and beckoned Traveller over.
By the Creator, the prophet realized... Gram. Captain Berne's pirate lord is my father!
The woman's husband managed to help her sit up in the worn but clean bed, and in a few minutes she held both babies swaddled in her arms. Traveller stood by the bedside, his staff in one hand while the other touched one child, then the other on the forehead. Both twins stopped their crying when he came near, and dropped into a dreamless, innocent sleep.
His palm was laid on Gramlen first.
“When the king grows old and the world bleeds gold,
When all our hopes have come to grief,
Doubt not that we a savior need,
A prophet and a thief.”
“What do your verses mean?” asked the woman, but her husband, the man called Gram, urged her to stay quiet. Traveller's hand had moved on. His fingers brushed the brow of the elder twin, the one the woman had named Gramling. The babe shuddered involuntarily at the touch, and the gray-clad Aura shut his eyes, lips moving soundlessly. “Why do you hesitate? Will you not bless him, too?”
“Silence,” hushed her husband, but Traveller's words were audible now.
“Though kingdoms clash and lightning flash,
Though demons break the deep,
A spark is laid against the day,
When shadows souls shall reap.”
The babe's mother gasped at the grim proclamation. Even the father seemed taken aback.
“Traveller?” he questioned hesitantly.
Then all Blazes broke loose on the little stone chapel. The mother screamed.
The vision changed.
The chapel was in flames, far away so that it remained nothing more than a small glow on the edge of the night. Death had visited where no death was meant to walk.
Over a rocky hill came two figures: a thin man in gray, holding a child, and a weeping man with flaxen hair and a long, bloody sword.
“Come, Gram!” called Traveller. “My mount is close by! We can still save your son!”
“No, no, no! Blast you, damn you, give him back to me! I want nothing more to do with you!” screamed the man, stumbling along, reaching for the baby he had delivered not an hour ago, crying its heart out in the Aura's arms. “Because of you, Alwene is dead, and so is my firstborn!”
Alwene, the prophet thought. My mother. The firstborn... my brother.
“If only it were so,” said Traveller, sadly. “I fear that your son will be kept alive. The Emperor of Darkness requires him for his terrible purposes, just as badly as he requires this second child. Will you take him yourself, and have him given up to the same fate as his brother?”
“No! I will hide him where no blasted half-god can reach him! Give him back! You've torn my life apart already, and I'll have no more to do with ANY of your kind! Give... him... back!”
At the last word, Gram leaped forward to smite the Aura with his sword, heedless of the helpless babe clutched under Traveller's arm.
There was a flash of light as the gray-cloaked guardian swept out his staff. Gramling flew backwards, landing hard on his back, head lolling unconsciously to one side.
“I am truly sorry,” murmured the Aura, shaking his head. Bending down at his fallen friend's side, he breathed on him, and a mist woven of watery light descended from his lips to pour into the man.”Be healed, be concealed, be delivered,” whispered Traveller.
Then he was up again, his staff was nowhere to be seen, and he was clutching Gramlen- Me, the prophet remembered- in both arms.
Howls of fury and shrieks of pursuit sounded from the burning chapel, miles away.
Then the vision changed for a second time.
A lone horseman raced in and out of the sandy hills, a billowing gray cloak flapping out behind him, a small mewling bundle clutched to his chest. His long felt cap whipped left and right as he galloped on. In seconds he was gone, and the desert was quiet once more.
A minute passed. Then two.
A darkness, blacker than the night, seeped out from between the dunes. A shriek broke out over the silence, long and high and horrible. The chase was on. Far ahead, the mysterious horseman kept riding, even with the dark presence behind him. His destination was close, and if he could only reach it in time… Ymeer was so close...
The shrieks behind him grew louder. His enemies were gaining on him.
This book...the prophet realized... It's the story of my life.
Chapter Thirteen: Blood Ties
Wanderwillow did not keep the other young Striders idle while Gribly was gone. After a brief telling of their tale- most of which he seemed to know or guess already- the Aura began to teach them. “There is much knowledge you each must have, and which has been kept from you by unhappy circumstance until now. I will try to explain a little more of your gifts to both of you, and to the young prophet when he returns.”
And indeed he did. It came as no surprise to Elia that one of the Aura would know all there was to know about Striding, and though some of his words shocked her, others confirmed what she had suspected all along, from experience and coincidence.
“There are three parts to the world of mortals- the world you call the Natural,” he asserted, his deep melodious voice somehow carrying his exact meaning to Elia's ears. She had a feeling that he could be talking in gibberish and she would still understand him perfectly- perhaps he even was...
“I've heard that the ancients said so,” Lauro interrupted. Elia wished he wouldn't, but he did, many times. “But does anyone still believe it anymore?”
“Whether or not they do,” chided the Aura, “It is most certainly true. Do you know what the parts are?”
“It was said...” Lauro squinted, trying to remember. Elia smiled; it all reminded her of learning her runes as a child. Class. They were taking a class. “Sea,” Lauro started.
“Good. And what else?”
“Sky.”
“Then...?”
“Stone. Sea, Sky, Stone. The three elements of the Natural World.”
“Indeed,” Wanderwillow confirmed. “Now, since you know so much, do you know what these parts have to do with the process that men and nymphs refer to as Striding?”
“N... no,” the prince admitted, frowning. Elia sympathized with him, no matter how he usually made her feel. The kindness in the Aura's voice made one want to please him at all costs, and failure
seemed the most painful thing in the world.
“Elia? Know you the answer, my child?”
She gulped, blinked slowly, and nodded. “I... I think so. It has to do with what Karmidigan showed me in Mythigrad... about storms being part frost, part wave... doesn't it?”
The Aura smiled, and Elia's heart glowed inside her. “In a way,” he said.
She bit her lip, considering. “I think,” she finally began, “That Striding of any kind, Wave, Frost, Sand, Wood, is a gift the Creator has given us, men and nymphs both. The gift is the ability to change a small part of those bigger parts.”
“That makes no sense,” Lauro interrupted again.
“Think about it,” she responded. “What does a Wave Strider like me, a Frost Strider like Karmidigan, or one of the Mist Striders from the old legends have in common?”
Finally it dawned on the prince, and his eyes grew wide. “Water!” he exclaimed.
“No,” she countered, “The Sea.”
“Sea, Sky, Stone,” chanted Wanderwillow under his breath. Louder, he said, “You've almost figured it out, Halanyad. There is more.”
“Oh.” Elia's smile drooped a little, but not for long. Her hunger for knowledge outweighed any other emotion.
“The answer lies with what you have already experienced. When you combined your gifts with the gifts of the Frost Striders, to summon a storm of water and ice that would strike your Sea Demon enemy, did you not feel your mind slip free of its usual boundaries? Were you not able to touch elements of the Sea that were not available to you before?”
“I... Yes, I was... almost. I felt as if could control the storm itself. As if all the water was part of me, and not just the liquid kind. Ice... cloud...”
“Indeed. For however brief a time, you touched all of the Sea Element.”
“I did?”
“You did.”
“That's incredible!” Lauro laughed, seeming genuinely happy. Suddenly his voice died and he frowned in thought. Elia wondered what it was about, but she soon had a question of her own.
“Then... how am I able to control fire sometimes? That isn't part of Sea, Sky, or Stone, as far as I can see.”
An ominously silent pause came over the clearing. Lauro snapped out of his reverie to gape at her. “That's right! That night with the draik... How could I forget?”
“You can Stride Fire?” The silence fell again, even heavier. Wanderwillow had spoken... and impossible as it seemed, he had sounded confused.
“Well, I think so,” Elia replied hesitantly, glancing down, afraid she'd offended him. “At least, I've done it once by accident, and once on purpose. The first time, I just stopped the fire from reaching me, and held it in my grip for a second... The second time, I used a small flame to make a blaze- and it almost killed Gribly. I haven't tried again since.”
“Hmmm,” breathed Wanderwillow slowly. He didn't frown- not exactly- but his eyes grew slightly dimmer, as if he were retreating within himself to consider this troubling new development. At last, he shook his head. “I do not know the answer to what you seek, but I have no doubt the Creator will reveal all in time. His ways are mysterious, but His paths are always straight.”
Just like that? Elia wondered. He really doesn't know? Well... at least he doesn't seem to think it makes me a sorcerer... or a Pit Strider.
“It makes little difference,” the Aura said, though Elia wondered if he was telling the truth. “What you experienced while Striding the storm is a small taste of what all the ancient Striders could do, when the gift was first bestowed upon them in ages long past. If a nymph, or later, a man, could mold part of Sea, Sky, or Stone to his will, he could do it to all of that part. There were no Wave Striders or Wind Striders then...”
“There were only Sea Striders,” realized Lauro, speaking his thoughts aloud. “And Stone Striders... and Sky Striders! Aha!” he said, almost jumping right up onto his feet again.
“What?” Elia blurted, taken aback.
“Lightning!” Lauro cried, “We always see it in the sky, don't we? That's why I could use it!”
“You've used lightning? What does that mean?” Elia asked, directing her question more to Wanderwillow than the prince.
“The path of Sky gifts one with control of all its elements,” the Aura allowed, “and yes... lightning is one of them.”
“That means I'm a Sky Strider,” Lauro surmised. “It does, doesn't it?” Wanderwillow nodded. A hard glint came into the prince's eye, and he blew out a heavy breath. “That means...” he murmured, slowly and deliberately, “That I'm more powerful than any normal Wind Strider... even the king of Vastion himself!”
“Your father?” Elia gasped.
“Yes,” Lauro said, and the hardness left his eye so quickly she wondered if she'd just imagined it. His shoulders sagged. “Why am I different?” he asked suddenly, sounding sad... almost.
“Because you are part of a greater plan,” explained Wanderwillow, his voice full of pity for what the young prince was undergoing. “That plan requires power that has not been seen in this land for many centuries... both for good, and for evil. It is not of my own design, nor of any other Aura, but the Creator's. You are similarly gifted, Elia.”
“I know,” she said, closing her eyes against the magnitude of it all. Suddenly they shot open again in realization. “So is Gribly!” she exclaimed. “He used to be able to Stride Sand, but now he can do it to rocks and dirt, too!”
“Yes,” the Aura said simply. “You are as yet the only three in all Vast and the lands beyond who have begun to regain the fullness of the old gifts... save one other.”
“Who?” Elia asked, confused. “Is it someone we know? Someone we've encountered? Someone in our families?” She barely noticed that it was she who was interrupting now.
“Oh, we know him,” said a voice behind her, and she twisted her sitting body to see who had spoken. Out from the trees stumbled Gribly, the Aura's book in his hand, white-faced and trembling. How much did he hear? she wondered. “We know him all right...” the boy said again. “He's the Pit Strider. Gramling. My twin brother.”
Chapter Fourteen: Wisdom. Sorrow. Love.
It all sounded so incredible... but Elia knew Gribly's story was true. She had rarely been to the sea-ports of the Zain in the south, but even she had heard rumors of the pirates who plagued the coasts of every kingdom, burning and looting, never attacking each other, sometimes seeming to be part of a larger alliance... which, Gribly announced, most of them were.
An alliance led by none other than his own long-lost father.
“I don't know how he got there, or how long he's been an outlaw,” Gribly told them all solemnly, “But I've been seeing the signs before now... it's just that I tried to ignore them. A pirate father... a sorcerer brother... not the family I always dreamed about.”
“Tell me about it,” Lauro grumbled from the side. They had widened their sitting circle to include the young prophet, who had lost his sickly look, though not his brooding attitude, at a touch from the Aura. “My father hates me as much as you say your father hates the Aura... and whoever it was that beat Traveller into running away. Imagine that! An Aura, fleeing!” Suddenly he winced, looking towards Wanderwillow as if he expected a lightning bolt to strike him at any second for his blasphemy.
“Your father hates you,” Wanderwillow was restating what the prince clearly thought of as fact, not asking a question. He ignored Lauro's comment and held out the book he had formerly given Gribly. “Or so you think. It is now your turn to see what these pages hold for you.”
Lauro's eyes widened and his hands trembled as they took the book from the Aura's hands. His grip slipped as he reached out, and the tome went tumbling to the grass. Elia leaned over and carefully retrieved it, dusting it off and handing it back to him. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of three words inscribed in gold on the front of the book that she had not seen there before.
“Thank you,” he said, biting his lip in anxiety and holding it
close as if he expected it to leap right out of his grasp at any moment. Clearly he was afraid of what the book held for him, now that he had been deprived of the status of leader he had automatically assumed was his before. But his emotions were quickly controlled, and as he got up to enter the trees of the Forest of Foretelling once more, his back was straight and his face a mask of determination.
Grym Prophet (Song of the Aura, Book Three) Page 11
