The Prophecy (Children of the River Book 1)

by Ren Curylo

  “I won’t pretend to tell you what choices you should make. I came to tell you only what Mother said will happen. If she’s right, and the future is set, then we’re all unsuspecting pawns. If I’m right, then I’m assuming that if a person is important to the future, they will come into existence whether we want them to or not.”

  “That does not make me feel good about things.”

  “If all this is right, Ársa, you should at least tell Moriko about Adamen.”

  “I don’t see what that will accomplish.”

  “Maybe not, but what if there’s a child with Adamen? How will you ever hope to keep that a secret from her?”

  “I have no evidence that all the things you’ve told me about are more than stories.”

  “Are you seeing Adamen soon? How do you find her?”

  “I just find her where I find her. I can mentally link to her and find her anytime. I can usually go straight to her when I search for her.”

  “That’s an interesting connection. Perhaps there’s something to what Mother says after all.”

  “Perhaps,” Ársa admitted.

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s in the woods outside the village of Arrunshadow, in Mieranshire,” he said. “She’s actually on the banks of a river with some mortal girl.”

  “A mortal? Really? A Lilitu is with a mortal girl?”

  Ársa laughed. “Yes, they’re on the bank of the river that runs through the area. She’s having the girl toss her shoes up into a willow tree. Adamen has convinced the girl that if her shoe sticks, she’ll be married within the year. It’s almost midnight. I should go. Perhaps she’ll still be there when I arrive.”

  Anoba stood beside her brother and was of equal height. She kissed his cheek as she said goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, brother dear. Go catch your Fae and have your fun. I guess we’ll eventually see if she’ll bear your burden. I love you, Ársa,” she said.

  Ársa smiled and hugged his sister to his chest. “I love you, too, Annie.” He brushed a quick kiss across her cheek and vanished before she could complain about the nickname that she hated.

  Just after midnight Nonae 29, 761

  Mieranshire Province Ceann’nathair

  Adamen “Go on then, toss it up again, you have four more tries before the willow says you have to stop,” Adamen said to the young woman standing next to her.

  “Are you sure?” “Of course I’m sure,” Adamen said. “Go on, toss it, girl. I haven’t got all night.”

  The blonde human girl looked at Adamen from the corner of her eye as she bent her legs at the knees, spreading them apart so she could toss her shoe upward into the willow’s branches. “You ain’t?” she asked with a sharp nasal tone. “Where you got to go anyway?”

  “I’m meeting Ársa, The Creator, the High God, the God of the Gods. You know about him?” Adamen didn’t have any plans, but she never knew when Ársa would turn up. It could happen.

  The girl started mutely at Adamen, wide eyes. “Go on, now,” she said in awe. “You don’t mean it, do you?”

  “I do indeed. If you don’t hurry and finish your toss, I’ll be late.”

  The girl straightened up and looked suspiciously at Adamen. “You’re joking, though, ain'tcha?”

  “Toss the boot, Mary,” she said. “And no, I’m not joking. Why would I joke about a thing like that?”

  “Why, to impress me, of course,” the girl said.

  Adamen looked at her. She decided not to ask Mary why she’d be interested in impressing her. “Toss that boot before I stuff it up yer arse, Mary,” she said.

  “Why’s he meeting you, Addie?” the girl said.

  “He’s my lover,” Adamen said. “And don’t call me Addie. The likes of you mortals aren’t allowed to play fast and loose with a Fae’s name. It will bring you bad luck.”

  “Will it?” Mary said, drawing in her breath.

  “It will, and believe me, I’ll see to it, personally.” Fae creatures have a thing about their names. I’m not letting you play around with mine. All Fae, no matter what race or species, guarded their names fiercely, some more than others, and not even one of them ever told anyone their whole name.

  Mary practiced her throw five times without letting go of her shoe. Finally, she tossed it upward into the branches and it stuck this time. She let out a hoot of excitement, clapped her hands and jumped up and down.

  “It’s about damned time,” Adamen muttered under her breath. She was aware of Ársa’s arrival, and now, she was anxious to get rid of this girl.

  “I’m getting married within a year,” Mary shouted, turning to Adamen with a grin.

  “That’s great,” Adamen said with a thickly sarcastic tone. “I’m happy for you. Now, give me the bag of keys you promised me.”

  Mary frowned and reached into her apron pocket. “Why do you want all these keys?” she asked.

  “For fun,” Adamen said, reaching for the pouch held closed with a thin leather drawstring. She felt a slight burn and realized that one or more of the keys were made of iron. Damned humans, she thought. She quickly stuffed the bag in her dress pocket and hoped it wouldn’t burn her leg too badly before she could get rid of it. “Thanks, Mary. Now get out of here, I’m meeting someone.”

  “Ársa?” the girl asked with round, excited eyes.

  “Perhaps,” Adamen said. In truth, she could feel him watching her. She knew he was just over there. She turned to her right and saw him, blending in with the trees at the edge of the clearing. The willow grew on the bank of the river, near the sandbar.

  “Can’t I stay and meet him?” Mary asked eagerly.

  Adamen frowned. “No,” she said.

  “Why not? I’ve always wanted to meet him.”

  “He’ll melt your face off if you look at him,” Adamen said.

  “No, he won’t,” Mary argued.

  “Yes, he will,” Adamen said. “Right off. It will melt down and puddle on your nice blouse.”

  “Why doesn’t yours melt off?” Mary asked suspiciously.

  Adamen paused for a moment. “Because I’m Fae,” she said, at last, hoping it would pacify the idiot girl.

  “All right,” Mary said. “I have to get going anyway. My Pa will skin me for being out this late if he finds me gone.”

  Adamen started to turn toward Ársa but stopped when she realized Mary was still standing there, dully staring at her.

  “What is it?” she asked impatiently.

  “My shoe, Addie,” she said. “I can’t go home without it. How will I get it down? It’s so dark up there I’ll never find it and besides, it’s too dangerous to climb trees at night.”

  Adamen sighed in exasperation and looked up at the tree branches. It was pitch black up there. She couldn’t see the shoe herself. Suddenly, the branches of the trees rustled and shook. Moments later, the shoe whizzed past them and landed with a thud on the ground right beside Mary. Adamen looked up to see Ársa with his finger in the air. No doubt he had knocked the girl’s shoe loose, hoping to get rid of her.

  Adamen scooped it from the ground and pressed it into Mary’s arms. “There you are. Get going.” She turned Mary toward her village and gave her shoulders a gentle push. “Don’t worry about your Pa. If you get home in the next five minutes he’ll never know you were out.”

  “Thank you, Addie,” Mary said. Catching the dark look on her companion’s face, she quickly amended, “Adamen.” She turned and ran down the trail through the woods toward her village.

  When the girl disappeared from sight, Ársa stepped forward and wrapped Adamen in his arms, dwarfing her small stature. “Are you through tormenting that girl, love?”

  “Yes,” she purred, leaning against him. “Can you take this for me?” she asked, rummaging around in her pocket. She pressed the small drawstring bag against his chest. “It’s burning the bloody Ifreann out of me.”

  He took the bag from her. “Can you come home with me tonight? I have something to discuss with you.”


  “Discuss? That sounds ominous all right,” she said. She watched him slip the bag of keys into his pants pocket before agreeing to go with him. “Of course I will, but only if you’ll help me sort the iron keys from the rest in that bag.”

  “I’d be delighted to, Adamen. Or should I call you Addie? That’s what she called you, wasn’t it?” Ársa laughed. He knew well how finicky all Fae were regarding their names.

  “Don’t start, Ársa, otherwise I’ll have to do something drastic to you in your sleep.”

  He held out his hand and silently waited for her to place her slender palm against his. After glaring at him for a few moments, she slid her hand into his and grinned. He Traveled her to his home where they often spent their time together.

  Adamen sat on Ársa’s plush sofa, with dirty, slippered feet propped up on the arm. She leaned back against his side, cramming sweet iced cakes into her mouth with her fingers. “These are delicious, Ársa,” she said talking with her mouth full. “Your Seirbhíseach did a great job. Did you have trouble finding the ingredients?”

  “No,” Ársa said. He had finished telling her all about Anoba’s prophecy. He was waiting for her to comment on all he’d said and she was talking about cakes. “They are relatively common ingredients, or at least they are if you know where to look, and thankfully, I know a Fae creature intimately, so I know where to find all her hangouts.”

  “Mmm,” she said, stuffing in another cake. She had seven in her mouth at once. She was chewing and rolling her eyes in delight. After she finished off the last mouthful, she drained her glass of sweet pink wine and stood up in front of the couch.

  “Is that all you can say about what I’ve just told you?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “What’s to say?” she asked. “It sounds like Anoba’s prophecy is taking your crew down a peg.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it seems to me that if it’s meant to be, then getting pregnant is now a crap shoot just the same as it is with all the other lowly species in the world. Welcome to the club, toots.”

  1 month later Phaedrus 25, 761 Lasahala Run

  Silverwilde, Cardosa

  Chéile The Elfin princess leaned forward, critically looking at herself in the mirror and smoothed her fair eyebrows. Her hair was platinum, almost silver, and shades lighter than any other Elfin girl in her colony. She was taller too, by a good six inches. She was slender as a reed except for her breasts. Normally, Elfin women were thin, which Chéile was, but they are generally all fairly flat chested. Chéile was the exception. Her breasts were big even by human standards. She was interested in breasts and what sizes the other girls had only because all the men seemed fixated on them. She herself thought they were ugly and disgusting and she hated looking at them. The areola and nipples seemed obscene to her, but men loved them, clothed or naked, it made no difference to them.

  She was on her way to see the prince. He was holding court today in place of his father, the king, who was dying. He was lingering about and dying slowly, Chéile thought crankily. But that didn’t matter, he could take all the time he wanted. She didn’t need him to be dead until she had secured the prince’s hand in marriage. It was necessary if she were ever to become queen. She had no hope of it otherwise. She was a low-level princess basically, just a title with no meaning whatsoever. Nineteen different Elves from five different families would have to die before she could ascend to the throne on her own.

  Still looking in the mirror, she pulled her hair back behind her pointed ear. Deciding she liked the look, she pulled the other side back so both her ears were exposed.

  “Chéile,” a voice called through the wooden door of her room. “Hurry, we’re going to be late. You don’t want to keep Prince Caolán waiting.”

  “All right, Mama,” Chéile called back.

  “Bring your shawl, dear; it’s going to be cool when we walk home tonight.” “Yes, Mama,” she called. It was a long walk to Prince Caolán’s home, on the far end of their village, up a steep path. He lived in the palace in the high part, where the rest of his royal family lived. She lived down near the bottom of the village, north of the last street where the poorest Elves lived. By comparison with humans, the poorest Elves lived like kings but that made little difference to Chéile.

  Chéile retrieved her silken shawl from the padded chair beside the window. A movement in the forest outside her third-floor window caught her eye. She paused and looked. “It’s that dratted human,” she muttered. “Why must he plague me so?”

  Ársa was standing there, looking at her. He lifted a hand to wave. Chéile waved back. Something about him excited her. She knew he was beneath her. He was such a liar, too, she thought, as she looked him over, her eyes roaming over his muscular body from top to bottom.

  Somehow, she thought, he has learned to manipulate Rootwork magic. Because he could transport himself around the village like no ordinary human. She completely dismissed the claims of him being The Creator. The village elder had said he was, and Ársa had finally admitted to it—when she pressed him on it, but Chéile still thought it was a ploy to get under her skirts. His motivation in that regard was not in question. He had asked her many times to lie with him. If it wasn’t so insulting being desired by such a base character, Chéile thought, it might be flattering.

  Suddenly, he was gone. She stared out the window a few moments longer and wondered where he could have gone. He must have stepped back into the trees. Maybe someone was coming down the path that ran along the edge of the forest. It is where their regular patrols walked. She grabbed her shawl and turned to leave the room.

  A yelp escaped her lips as she ran straight into Ársa’s broad, well-muscled chest.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “You should not be in my room.”

  “I came to do something,” he said. He leaned toward her and pulled her against him, kissing her passionately. She was as tall as he was, so he didn’t have to bend to reach her.

  Chéile fought the urge to return his passion. He stirred her much more than she wanted to admit. He made it hard for her keep her calm demeanor. She needed to be cool, icy—it was what would benefit her to become queen. She had seen Caolán’s mother on many occasions as she sat in her place beside her husband. She was always stoic and composed, keeping her face expressionless. Caolán always talked about his mother with such passion. Chéile wanted to emulate her as best she could so he would choose her to be his bride over all the other girls in their village.

  Secretly, she was glad that over half the village had picked up and moved away. It took out a lot of the stiffest competition, which would only benefit her. She was prettier, had the palest hair and the palest eyes, all attributes highly prized by the Elves. She had bigger breasts than any other female around. That was both a blessing and a curse. While she knew men loved them, they always seemed to have the attitude that they cheapened her and made her stupid, as if the size of her chest had anything to do with how well her brain worked. Idiots.

  Chéile had to admit, that over time, it had lowered her opinion of men. She wondered if Ársa was the same way. While he looked at her breasts longingly, he also looked her in the eye when he spoke to her. He told her she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. She believed he meant it. He desired her, lusted after her. He kept coming back in spite her telling him no repeatedly.

  Here she was, in his arms, returning his kisses. Her heart beat fast when he touched her. His hand roamed over her buttock, caressing her through her long, silken gown. He pulled her close to him, pressing both of his hands against her butt.

  She thought the kiss would never end. It never occurred to her that she could end it, so she continued kissing him until he pulled away. Her lips felt bruised and smoldering. In a strange way, she wanted more. But she was too much of a lady and too much of a princess to initiate a kiss herself. Besides, he was low class, he was trash, he was human, and she was so far above him, he could never hope to attain the greatn
ess he would need, to be in the same room with her other than sneaking in as he had.

  “You have to leave,” she said haughtily.

  “You enjoyed that kiss, Chéile, I know you did.”

  “I did not,” she said, her cheeks blushing prettily. “You shouldn’t be here. I should call the guards and have you slain.”

  Ársa laughed dismissively, as if she had made an idle threat. “Come to bed with me, Chéile,” he said, pulling her toward her large, soft bed dominating her room. “We can make love until the morning light.”

  She pulled her hand away from him. “I have to go. Prince Caolán is waiting.”

  “Why do you want to marry that boring milksop when you can have a grand time making love to me?” he asked with a laugh.

  “I can’t see much of a future in bedding down with you,” she smirked.

  “Chéile,” her mother’s voice said from the other side of the thick door. She knocked but she didn’t open the door. She had felt, all too often, Chéile’s wrath for entering her room without permission. “We’re ready to go. You must come now. You’re late as it is and the prince will be waiting. You’re not going to interest him in marrying you if you can’t even arrive on time for dinner, dear.”

  “I’m coming, Mama,” Chéile said. Turning to Ársa, she hissed, “I don’t know how you got in here, but you had better get out the same way and do not let Mama see you. And don’t come back.”

  Ársa leaned forward close enough that his lips barely touched hers. “Has the prince kissed you yet?”

  “No,” she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest.

  “Ah, well, when he does, make sure you compare it to this,” he said. He kissed her again, with soul-scorching passion. He immediately left her room. How, she did not know. He was there, and then he was simply gone.

  How does he do that? She wondered about it as she opened her door and found her mother still standing on the other side. “I’m ready, Mama,” she said, draping the shawl over her arm.