The Prophecy (Children of the River Book 1)

by Ren Curylo

  A movement caught his eye and he whipped the glass around to get a better look. He saw them walking across the beach, hand in hand. Muirgan was looking up into the man’s face and laughing. She never looked that happy with me. Knowing he had to act fast, he waved to his brother to alert him that he had found his quarry. His brother wouldn’t have condoned this mission had he told him the truth, so he had only told him he had word that Muirgan was living on the island and he wanted to bring her home. His child needed a mother. His brother had supported him in his quest by fishing near the island even when the fishing wasn’t good.

  He and his brother lowered the dory into the water and Yann climbed aboard. Waving goodbye, he rowed closer to the island. He debated in his head about how he would explain the dory’s disappearance after he laid the wishbone out in the boat. I’ll deal with that later; I can’t risk losing my opportunity. After he was far enough from the boat and close enough to the island, Yann took the charm from his pocket and laid it on the bottom of the boat.

  He muttered, “Prátaí,” as he set it carefully on the worn wood of the dory’s bottom.

  The ocean around him became misty and dim, and he rubbed his eyes to see better. Is that how it works? He picked the oars back up and began rowing again. He steered around the island, not wanting to come to shore near them. He didn’t want to alert them to anyone else’s presence. As long as surprise was on his side, he stood a better chance of success.

  When he reached the backside of the island, he found a sheltered and secluded spot to row ashore. Certain that he wasn’t visible to the lovers across the island, he stepped out onto the sand and dragged his boat as far inland as he could. He was certain the tides wouldn’t change drastically while he was here. After tying the rope off to a thin, scrubby tree, he turned toward the boat to fetch his charm. His heart leaped to his throat as he saw the boat was no longer there. He realized he should not have left the charm loose in the boat. He had to find that charm, he needed the invisibility to sneak up on his target. In his panic, he scratched around at the tree to locate the invisible rope he had just tied to it. He sighed in relief as his fingers curled on the tether. He followed it all the way back to the boat and banged his knee loudly on the hull as he reached it. After climbing inside, he could see the hull again perfectly, just as he had rowing away from his brother’s boat. He looked where he’d left the charm, but it was no longer there.

  Yann’s stomach tightened and constricted all the way up into his throat. Where is it? He scrabbled around in a panic looking for it. After a frantic few seconds, he felt it. It had slid as far back in the boat as it could go and it was wedged into a small crack in the wood.

  He nearly cried with relief as he slipped it into his pocket. He looked down at himself and saw nothing different. There was no mist as had happened with the boat. Will they see me coming? I have to be quiet. I have to trust this is going to work. He unsheathed his knife and picked his way down the trail across the island. The vegetation here wasn’t overwhelming and he was grateful. That, at least, worked in his favor, although, in places, he had difficulty climbing over the rocks. A few were too big, too straight and too jagged to scale, making him skirt around them to advance in his quest.

  He stepped out of the foliage onto the beach on the other side of the island. He saw the two of them, basking in the sun on a large flat rock. The male, Aindréas, was lying on both their pelts for cushion against the hard surface. Yann’s lips hardened and pursed as his brow furrowed. He felt sick and shaky as he realized what they were doing. Muirgan, in all her exquisite beauty, was naked and straddling the man’s hips. Her head was back and the expression on her face was rapturous delight. She never looked like that with me. She didn’t move like that with me. She always just laid there like she was waiting for it to be over. The man had both his hands on her bare breasts.

  Yann stood and watched them a moment, stifling a growl of rage. He didn’t want to alert them. He was only sorry he wouldn’t be able to easily get Muirgan’s pelt. Which one is hers? Maybe there’s a chance I can make her come back to me.

  He walked slowly, carefully placing his feet so he only stepped on soft, silent sand. The rock, he estimated was low enough that he could lash out quickly and take Aindréas out before Muirgan realized he was there. Then, perhaps in her panic, he could snatch her pelt. If he could get possession of it, he would make her pay, and he would enjoy every minute of it. This time, maybe he would even make some money off her. He didn’t know a man in the town of Blackpool that wouldn’t pay dearly to crawl between her legs.

  Yann closed the last few feet between them and the knife felt heavy in his hand. He stood silently watching them so near him. He let the anger build in his stomach and chest and enjoyed its rise and surge through his body. He lifted the blade and quickly slashed Aindréas’ throat.

  Muirgan screamed and fell back as the hot blood squirted out and splattered on her bare thighs and the flat of her belly. She fell backward, between Aindréas’ quivering, jerking legs. Almost without pause, she was on her knees and scrambling backward, her hands were clawing at the rock, seeking her skin.

  “Yann,” she said, her dark brown were eyes round with terror.

  “You can see me?” Yann gasped in shock. That’s not supposed to happen. He paused in his advance only long enough for Muirgan to pull her skin free of Aindréas’ legs. She flung it over her blood-spattered shoulders, as she ran for the sea. Before she reached thigh-deep waters, she had transformed into a fat, round seal and she dove beneath the surface and disappeared from Yann’s view.

  Yann gaped after her, staring at the sea for a few moments before he looked down at himself. Dumbfounded, he looked back at the ocean in time to see Muirgan crest the waves and look at the island. He could have sworn there was profound sorrow on her seal’s face.

  4 days later Phaedrus 2, 762

  Pine Mountain Pond Tiondel, Til’gaviel

  Ársa Ársa had searched everywhere for Moriko. He had to see her, talk to her, and explain his behavior to her. He didn’t think she’d understand, but he had to do it. It was unfair and unkind to ignore her or let her find out what he’d done some other way.

  He tried to find her the way he always had found her, by concentrating on her and allowing himself to connect with her. This time, it didn’t work. Why? He wondered if it was his own sense of guilt at having betrayed her by marrying someone else. She was going to be hostile and angry when she found out. He didn’t blame her. How would I feel if she did to me what I’ve done to her?

  He was at the northernmost peak on the rocky shore of Faedrell Province, Ceann’nathair. It was cold here. It’s always cold here. I don’t think it’s ever been warm here. It’s summer everywhere else and the waves down there look like slush, there’s still so much ice in the water. And the wind is the bitterest thing this side of Hermolaos’ heart.

  Ársa’s thoughts turned to warmer places. Moriko loved the warmth. She wouldn’t be here unless there was something wrong in one of her beloved forests. He remembered spending days on end with her many years ago. They had swum, kissed, and played. Where was that place?

  He remembered. He immediately stood and Traveled there. Why didn’t I think of looking here before? This place was instantly more welcoming. It was warm, balmy and the breeze was cool and comforting. The Pine Mountains ranged in the distance before him where he came solid on the sandy bank of a clear pond. He kept himself invisible while he scanned the area for danger.

  A fire caught his attention on the opposite bank of the wide pond. Ársa closed his eyes and focused on the area near the fire. He could feel her, almost smell her. His beloved Moriko, Goddess of his Forests, was here. He had to be cautious about approaching her. He didn’t want to startle her and wind up sitting in the bottom of the pond.

  He Traveled to her side of the pond and stayed invisible, landing behind her, watching her for a few moments. She seemed tinier than usual with the mountain for contrast. He stood quietly in the twil
ight, silently watching her and admiring her beauty. She was roasting fish on a stick across her campfire, while she was perched on a small log like a fragile bird.

  She turned the fish over so the other side got equal time over the fire. “Come out, Ársa,” she barked. “You aren’t fooling anyone hiding in the forest like that.”

  Ársa laughed, but he quickly stepped out of the woods and into the clearing with her. “How did you know I was here?”

  She grunted at him as if it were the stupidest question he had yet asked. “Care to join me for dinner?” she asked without looking at him.

  “I don’t want to take your food, love,” he said, sitting down on the empty log opposite the fire.

  “I planned on enough for you when I started cooking,” she said.

  He tilted his head curiously. “You did? How did you know I would be here?” he asked again.

  “I could smell you coming,” she said. She looked up at him for the first time and gave him a crooked smile. “It’s been a while, Ársa,” she said, turning her attention back to the fish. “I guess you’ve been busy.”

  Her tone made him suspicious. Does she already know? Who told her? “How have you been, love?” he asked.

  “Solitary,” she said. “It’s been good.”

  She can’t possibly know about Chéile. She would have stabbed me through the heart with her little fish roasting sticks if she knew.

  “I’m sure you feel that’s good for you. It doesn’t serve us all. I’ve been looking all over for you, Moriko. How long have you been here?”

  “I only got here this afternoon,” she said. She tested the fish and determined they were ready. She walked around the fire and handed him a stick full of roasted fish. She took one for herself before returning to her seat to dine.

  “These are delicious,” he said. He sensed an awkward tension between them. Am I imagining this?

  They bantered with small talk during dinner. Afterward, without ceremony, Moriko walked to the pond’s edge, stripped off her clothes, and dove in for a swim. Ársa wasted no time joining her. Soon all awkwardness between them was gone, and they laughed in one another’s arms as if they spent all their days alone together.

  After their swim, they lay together on her blanket on the sandy shore. He wrapped his arms around her and held her in the cool of the evening by the glow of the low-burning fire.

  After a long, comfortable silence, Moriko asked, “Why are you here, Ársa?”

  Ársa chuckled. “Can’t I come see my best girl without needing a reason?”

  Moriko brayed a sarcastic laugh. “Where is your best girl?”

  “Oh, don’t tease me,” he said, hoping she wasn’t asking it in earnest. “You’re the love of my life.”

  “You love me, do you?” she asked. Her tone was a blend of flirtatious seriousness.

  Ársa looked deeply into her brown eyes. “You know I do, Moriko, more than anything in this world.” He kissed her tenderly, pulling her naked body close to his.

  Moriko wrapped her arms around his neck and held him fiercely close as if he were her lifeline in a raging river. She kissed the side of his neck. “I love you, too, Ársa,” she whispered. “But,” she said aloud, a little too close to his ear, “It doesn’t alter the fact that you’re here for a reason, so why don’t you just spit it out and tell me.”

  Ársa pulled away from her far enough to look into her face. She’s cute, pretty, beautiful, mean, delightful, sexy, and innocent— she is all those things. How can I break her heart? He considered his options and took the coward’s path. “I came to ask you if you’d take on another duty, Moriko.”

  She was surprised. “Like what?”

  “I have had a request from the Lilitu to assign someone to represent and look after the Fae here. They don’t have anyone, you know. And I thought since they all are so close to nature, many of them living in the forests, that you’d be a perfect choice. Would you be interested in looking after the Fae, Moriko?”

  Moriko looked at him steadily for a long time, as if she was assessing him, his words, and the situation. Her golden brown eyes never left his face during her silence. At last, she nodded. “Aye, I’ll do it. I see the Fae on a regular basis anyway. They already call on me when they need something, so we may as well make it official.”

  Ársa sighed in relief. “Thank you, lover,” he said. He bent his head and kissed her mouth. “Erish will be pleased. You were her choice when she asked me to find someone to represent them.”

  “Queen Erish asked for me?” Moriko asked.

  “Yes,” Ársa said with a nod.

  “Well, I guess that’s flattering since word has it she doesn’t like very many people.”

  Ársa laughed. “I never found her to be cool or aloof,” he said. “In fact, I’d say she’s quite pushy and passionate about getting what she wants.”

  “You sound as if you know,” Moriko said.

  “I’ll tell you one day,” he said. Ársa wished he could blurt out the rest of his story, why he came to see her. The other reasons why he came here. He didn’t think she’d take the news of Adamen’s child—his child with Adamen, he corrected himself—or his marriage to Chéile with as much grace and agreeability as she did taking on the Fae. He felt ashamed, but he assuaged himself by pulling Moriko close to him so she could rest her head on his shoulder. He leaned his cheek against her head, reveling in the woodsy scent of her tangled, messy hair. She always feels like home.

  Phaedrus 2, 762 Na Réaltaí

  Chéile An uneasy feeling crept up Chéile’s spine and latched itself tightly around her throat. She hadn’t seen her husband in over a week. When she asked about him, everyone said he was busy, but no one gave her any information. Busy isn’t a good enough answer. 0h, well if no one will tell me, I’ll find out for myself.

  Chéile unlocked the bottom drawer of her dressing table and pulled out her ornate wooden box, the box her Elfish headpiece had been delivered in. She may have endured the indignity of having the tiara ripped out of her platinum blonde hair on her wedding day, but she wasn’t about to give the box back to the bastards.

  She took out the small bowl and the bottle of liquid. She kept her liquid in a much larger more finely wrought bottle now. Without parents breathing over her shoulder, she had been able to make larger quantities of her scrying solution. Ársa paid little attention to what she did and so there were no questions coming from that quarter. She frowned at the tiny bowl and thought perhaps she needed a bigger one. She stashed it back in her box and strode down to the galley where the meals were prepared to search for a large serving bowl.

  The selection in the kitchen area did not disappoint her. She found a perfect bowl hidden in the back of a long cupboard that caught her eye. It was silver, with hands, severed at the wrists, supporting it. The hands were gnarled and clawed and quite ghastly looking. What in the world was this used for? I can’t imagine it being used at any of the banquets they have here. And who here would use such a thing? The actual rim of the bowl had a pinch in the lip, which formed a small spout like protuberance, making it perfect for her needs. Obviously, no one had used in quite some time, for it was extremely tarnished. She spent some time cleaning it up. She rubbed the bowl with silver polish and a piece of soft godcloth. With each stroke, she concentrated on her scrying abilities, imbuing the bowl with her power as she cleaned. Even after the time-consuming task was completed, she still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that gripped her.

  Chéile took her now cleaned up prize back to the room she shared with Ársa. She poured the contents from the scrying bottle into the bowl. She was amazed at how well it worked. Focusing on her husband, she had barely gotten started casting her spell when an image appeared in her bowl. There he was, sitting by a campfire, eating fish and talking. She widened her view and saw the young woman with him. Who is this? She remembered the conversation she had overheard between Anoba and Ársa and surmised that this was one of the women they had spoken of. But was it Mor
iko or the Lilitu? What do Lilitu look like? The woman shared her dinner with Ársa and they chatted around the fire. Though she could find nothing overly intimate about the scene, it bothered Chéile all the same. Her stomach knotted and a pain shot through her gut. She turned her attention to her husband, rather than the woman.

  Ársa was looking at the young woman as they talked. His eyes, oh, mo dhia. He’s in love with her. The look in his eyes, his dark blue eyes, as he talked to this wild-haired beauty, tore at Chéile’s heart.

  Chéile flew to her bed, abandoning the scrying bowl to bury her face into her pillow and weep bitterly. It was one thing to miss your husband while he was out working and going about his duties. It was quite another to see him looking longingly and lovingly across a campfire at another woman. That what she witnessed wasn’t quite infidelity didn’t matter to Chéile. In her heart, in the core of her being, she knew she had lost him. It never occurred to her that she couldn’t lose what she never had.

  Her bitterness swelled within her though she had not given up hope that she could bring him back to her and things would be the way they were the first two weeks of their marriage, though she knew they would never be quite the same either. She was happy to turn her wrath to a target other than her husband. She would, for now, give him the benefit of the doubt. After crying her pillow wet, she decided that she would have a peek at her former fiancé and see how his marriage was coming along. She rancorously hoped his bride was making him thoroughly miserable.

  She walked back to the scrying dish and stirred it with her finger. As the image dissolved into nothing, she caught a glimpse of Ársa lying naked on a blanket under the stars with his petite beauty snuggled on his shoulder. He pressed his cheek to her hair and his face bore such a look of love that it stabbed Chéile’s heart even though she hardly barely glimpsed it. She cried out as she tried to get the image back but it wouldn’t return. Oh, why didn’t I look at that before I broke the spell? Idiot.