The Prophecy (Children of the River Book 1)

by Ren Curylo

  “What am I doing here?” she muttered to herself as tears rolled from her eyes and annoyingly into her ears. “Mo dhia,” she said in aggravation as she sat up, sticking her fingers into her ears to wipe away the tears.

  She patted around in the darkness, feeling for her jacket. Once found, she slipped it on. Even in Phaedrus, the warmest month of summer, it was chilly here. Chilly enough to be uncomfortable. Nowhere near as chilly as my heart.

  Moriko kicked off the Chikandi blanket and slipped on her boots. She crawled out of the tent and looked around. No one lived in this part of the province, though she knew there was an island where some of the immortal creatures they had brought along had established themselves.

  Seeing this place now, she fully understood why no humans had ventured this far north. While vegetation grew here, the growing season for food would be short. She gave a grudging respect to anything growing here in the fierce wind that blew from the ocean. She looked to the east as the sun crested the horizon. Part of the reason for the perpetual chill in the air, she realized, was because it was so far above the ocean here. The entire edge of Ceann’nathair in the north was a sheer cliff, dropping down a hundred feet to the ocean. In places, it was even more.

  What was Ársa thinking when they designed this area? The thought of Ársa filled her with a cold rage. She shook her head. I can’t live like this. This is killing me. I have to purge myself and try to find a way to move forward. She tilted her head back and inhaled deeply. The air was cold and salty. She could hear the waves crashing into the rocks below.

  Moriko moved to the cliff’s edge and looked down. A loose rock skittered across the pale grass and hurled down toward the white foamy waves that splashed and licked hungrily against the stone embankment.

  Since it wants to be cold here always, I’ll accommodate it. She drew her rage up from within and forced it from her, using the gelid portion of her Thermo-Hibernal skill, she froze the area from the cliff’s edge to several miles inland. She walked, freezing the terrain and air as she went, from province edge to province edge, along the arching northern top of Faedrell, cursing Ársa with each step.

  She let her anger, frustration, and humiliation fill her before she thrust it from her, leaving a path of never-ending winter in her wake. She had started her trek on the southeastern side of Faedrell, before camping at the northernmost point. She continued toward the Mieranshire Provincial border which formed the southwestern boundary of Faedrell.

  Moriko stopped and looked behind her. It was colder than before, and the wind whipped fiercely inland. She took a deep breath. Do I feel better? She looked at wilting and drying grasses, burned by the cold wind. She felt a twinge of remorse at what she’d done. But yes, I feel better. I feel cleansed. She retraced her steps, modifying the few trees, flowers, and grasses that grew here, giving them the ability to withstand the bitter cold that now locked the rim of Faedrell in perpetual winter. She could have undone the icing she had given it, but decided it was better to leave it. Adapting the vegetation and animals here to withstand it made a deeper statement and one she would never forget.

  4 days later Ancil, 762

  Faedrell Province Ceann’nathair

  Anoba “Hey Ársa,” Anoba said, walking up and greeting her brother who stood at the edge of the cliff glaring out over the ocean. He turned his glare on her as she approached, his steely blue eyes filled with rage. “You’re in a mood, I see.”

  “Look at this, Anoba,” he said, indicating the iciness around him. “How did this happen?”

  Anoba looked around and took in the frigid terrain of the area. “I would say that someone did some venting.” She smiled at her brother. “I don’t see why you’re so upset.”

  “Seriously? You don’t see anything wrong here?” Ársa asked in a scathing tone. “You think this is exactly how we created it to be here?”

  Anoba shrugged. “It might not be how we created it, Ársa, but it’s how it’s supposed to be now.”

  “What does that mean? Are you spewing more of that Prophecy bullshit?”

  “It isn’t bullshit,” Anoba said, flaring up at her brother a bit. “Things aren’t always the way you planned but it doesn’t mean they’re not right.”

  Ársa narrowed his eyes at her. “You know something,” he accused.

  “I know many things,” Anoba said.

  “No, I mean about what happened here in Faedrell.”

  Anoba shrugged. “I don’t see why you’re upset,” she said again.

  “The fact that this place is in deep winter and it’s just summer’s end, Anoba,” he said. “Doesn’t that strike any chords with you that something is amiss?”

  “It is,” she said in a measured tone, “as it should be now.”

  Ársa sighed. “The plants have been adapted to live and grow and even bloom here,” he said, contemplating his surroundings. “Yes, it would appear so.”

  “Who did this, Anoba?” he asked sharply, looking piercingly at his sister. “Did you do it?”

  Anoba shook her head. “No,” she said, “I haven’t enough prowess with plant life to pull off something like this. Nor, I might add, do I have the proper adroitness with temperature control.”

  “Moriko did this,” he said surely.

  Anoba shrugged again.

  “What do you know of this?” he asked. “Tell me what you know, Anoba. That’s an order.”

  Anoba frowned. “I don’t know much, honestly, Ársa,” she said. “I dreamed about this. Mother mentioned this place to me last time we spoke. She said it would come about without my intervention.”

  “If you realized how sick to death I am of hearing about that stupid Prophecy, Anoba, you’d never mention it to me again.”

  “Be that as it may, Ársa,” she said, “it doesn’t change what is or what will be. Mother said this place will be important in the future. In more ways than one. It will affect a lot of us on down the line. What comes from here will be important to our survival many centuries from now.”

  “What comes from here?” Ársa asked. “Just what will come from here, Anoba?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I only know that something or someone will come from here that will matter to us in our future.”

  “This Prophecy shit is tedious,” Ársa said.

  “Do not be impatient, brother,” Anoba said. “You’ll come to see how it all fits together some day.”

  “I’m going to go find Moriko and make her put it back like it was.”

  “You cannot,” Anoba said. “It cannot be undone now. This place is as it should be for our future. Someday, you’ll see. And besides, if you’d pause a moment for thought, you’d realized what kind of anguish went into the creation and transformation here.”

  Ársa stood silently for a long time, looking around. He turned and walked away from his sister. He could tell she followed him for he could hear her footsteps in the permafrost. She continued to follow him for the better part of an hour. He finally stopped and turned toward her. “This is my fault, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “She purged herself of her grief, Ársa,” Anoba said.

  “And of me,” he said.

  “That remains to be seen. We don’t know if that’s even possible. Could you purge yourself of her?”

  “Never,” he said.

  “Even if The Prophecy weren’t part of it, Ársa, you must leave this place as is, to serve as a monument for Moriko. She needed this. Leave it be.”

  Ársa nodded and Traveled away.

  Anoba looked around at the icy terrain surrounding her. She saw the bitter beauty in the place. She saw the pain that went into creating it, as well as the care taken to ensure that plants and animals alike could continue to survive here. “I hope you feel better now, my forever friend,” she said before she, too, Traveled away.

  5 months later Ianualis 11, 763

  Bacainn Island

  The Spiorad Islands

  Ársa It was winter on Lerien and the north wind was
bitter in many places, but Ársa wasn’t uncomfortable standing on the beach on Bacainn Island, the smallest isle of the Spiorad chain. The island was mostly egg-shaped and was comprised of far more beach than vegetation. Though its forests were small, they were denser than on any of the other islands in the archipelago. It was warmer and more tropical than his beloved Amalith Island off the eastern coast of Til’gaviel.

  While Amalith Island still had seasons, even though they were milder than most areas to the north, here, the weather was almost always warm and by far the most tropical location on Lerien. He noted that few inhabitants lived on these islands and he wondered why. How have they not discovered this paradise yet?

  He had chosen Bacainn Island for his search tonight solely because of those dense forests. He had walked every inch of this island three times in the last two weeks, looking for Moriko. He had called to her, hunted her, for months now, since she had come to his room and discovered Chéile. It’s not how he wanted her to find out.

  Ársa cursed himself as a coward and walked out of the woods onto the beach. He looked at the waves glittering in the moonlight. He moved forward to stand on the damp sand, staring out of the waves.

  “She doesn’t want to be found,” a man’s voice said. Ársa nodded. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said. “Good evening, Oseyan.”

  Oseyan emerged from the sea and walked up to stand beside Ársa. Oseyan was a similar size, but with a deeper bronze hue to his skin. His hair was frost white and shoulder length. His eyes were sky blue and friendly.

  “Good evening, Ársa,” he said. “I’m afraid, cousin, that with this one, you’re going to have to relinquish control and find a way to be all right with letting Moriko have her own way.” Oseyan had been naked when he emerged from the surf, but with a snap of his fingers, a standard issue uniform appeared on him, fitting him perfectly. He was a Mover, able to bring things from remote locations to himself instantly. As long as he knew the reasonably accurate location of an item, he could transport it to himself. The most convenient thing to move, he had long ago discovered, was his clothing.

  “I need to at least talk to her,” Ársa said.

  Oseyan shook his head. “Bad idea, my friend,” he said. “She’s angry and more than that, she’s terribly hurt. Who can blame her?”

  Ársa shook his head. “I don’t blame her. I was stupid. And wrong.”

  “Yes, you were,” Oseyan said agreeably.

  “You don’t have to be so quick about it,” Ársa said.

  “Anoba said your mother called Chéile the viper in her prophecy.”

  Ársa glared at Oseyan. The moonlight made his eyes gleam. “Do you believe all that malarkey?”

  Oseyan nodded. “Aye, I do. It makes sense. And it all fits. Now you’ve gone and brought in an ally for Hermolaos’ party. You’ve married her, which further complicates the situation.”

  “It was stupid, but I can’t take it back. Perhaps I could rally the Envoy to grant a divorce. We could collectively strip her power.”

  “It won’t happen, at least not yet. She’s making friends in Na Réaltaí, Ársa, and that takes away votes from you. She has the advantage. All she has to have is one vote in her favor to deny you your unanimity.”

  “Damn,” Ársa muttered. “It’s a bad situation, Oseyan, I am aware. We have to find a way to make the best of it.”

  “Don’t make it worse by having children with her. At least, without a mutual agreement, that’s something she can’t do on her own.”

  Ársa groaned.

  “What?” Oseyan asked. “You didn’t…”

  “We agreed to have two children before we married,” Ársa said.

  “Well, we had better hope she doesn’t figure out that she can use that agreement to get pregnant any time she wants.”

  “She doesn’t know much about our rules and laws yet,” Ársa said.

  “False hope, old son,” Oseyan said. “She’ll figure it out. Anoba said she’s gotten a gan-sreang and she’s set up a suite of rooms just for herself.”

  “She’s not staying in my room anymore?”

  “When is the last time you were on Na Réaltaí?” Oseyan asked.

  “It’s been months,” he said, thinking back. “Not since the night Moriko came to see me and found Chéile. That was, what— four or five months ago?”

  “Ársa, you need to let Moriko go. Give her space to be hurt and angry. You need to go back to Na Réaltaí and take care of your duties there. If you’re gone too long, Hermolaos and Éadomhain will start thinking they’re in charge. We can’t afford a coup.”

  “I’ll send Moriko an order to appear. She’s never refused a direct order before,” he said.

  Oseyan grunted. “You’re a hard-headed man, Ársa, but I think you’ve met your match with Moriko.”

  “Maybe, but that’s all the more reason to not let it go.”

  “Courting disaster, there, my friend,” he said. “I’m leaving, but I think you should go back to Na Réaltaí. You’ve been gone long enough.”

  “I will,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to.”

  Oseyan walked back into the sea and disappeared, leaving Ársa reflecting on his choices standing on the beach alone.

  He took his gan-sreang from his pocket and tried again, for the thousandth time to contact Moriko. It was as unsuccessful as all the other times he had tried over the last few months.

  Ársa opened his official directives and sent her a message telling her to report to Na Réaltaí immediately.

  He instantly received a terse ‘no’ in response.

  He re-sent the directive telling her it was an order. Again, he received the same brusque ‘no’.

  Ársa’s next reply read, “If you do not comply with my direct order to report to Na Réaltaí immediately, you will be courtmartialed and brought back against your will.”

  Instantly she responded, “You will have to find me first.”

  Ársa was relieved that she was at least responding to him now instead of ignoring him as she had been doing. “I will put out a bulletin for anyone who sees you to arrest you and return you to Na Réaltaí.”

  “Go for it,” was her next message.

  He typed out, “Come talk to me, Moriko,” but he didn’t send it for another message from her came through.

  “I won’t come to Na Réaltaí. I know someday I will have to see you again but that won’t be for a while. You won’t find me until I want you to find me. Now, leave me be. I’m done with you.”

  Ársa erased his prepared message and replaced it with, “Reconsider.”

  Moriko replied, “Finished.”

  “Moriko?”

  She stopped responding. Ársa’s stomach burned. His heart and his mind ached and he felt angry with himself. I suppose it’s just as well we leave it at this because as soon as she’s over this business, some asshole will make sure she finds out about Adamen.

  Ársa shut down his gan-sreang and slid it into his pocket as he Traveled back to Na Réaltaí.

  Ianualis 11, 763 Na Réaltaí

  Chéile Chéile had scried on Ársa every night for the last four months. He was looking for someone. He was always alone, walking, endlessly walking through one forest after another. She watched him until she was bored and poured her fluid back into her bottle until the next evening. Each night became the same, muddling one into the next, another never-ending evening of boredom. What the Ifreann is he doing? Why doesn’t he just come home? It finally occurred to her that he was looking for Moriko. This realization fanned the embers of her rage every night when she watched him trodding on dim forest paths. He never seemed to grow weary of it.

  What dedication he has. Things would be remarkable if he had that much interest in his marriage. Chéile’s anger smoldered as she watched him tonight.

  Adding to her frustration was dismal results she had in Traveling to her scrying locations. The only one she consistently had gone to was Lasahala Run. She had never yet managed to make it to any locat
ion her husband had been when she watched him. It’s not going to stop me from trying.

  W atching Ársa tirelessly search for his lost love, she decided to find that lost love. She focused her thoughts on Moriko. It was harder for her to do when she had little emotional connection to the person. She had plenty of anger and hatred for the woman, but it didn’t seem to be enough to allow her to find her in Lerien.

  Next, she decided to use her doll along with her scrying equipment. She brought out her recently created likeness of Moriko and held it tightly as she sat in front of her silver bowl. Using the doll made it easier to find Moriko. She connected to Moriko quickly once the doll was in place, and found her standing in a forest, where a stiff breeze blew through the trees, stirring the woman’s wildly unkempt hair. She hid in her forest and looked out on a beach, watching someone.

  But who? Chéile tried to nudge the vision a bit to see what Moriko watched, but it was night and she couldn’t see that far away. Moriko undoubtedly could see in the dark, Chéile mused. A nifty talent, that. I wish I could do that. I wonder why I can’t. It cannot be because I started out as an Elf. All these people undoubtedly started out as human, a life form far inferior to my own.

  Chéile tried to Travel to Moriko several times, only to end up frustrated. Finally, she gave up trying to see who Moriko spied upon. The little idiot is content to stand in the dark in a forest and stare at someone, but I don’t have the patience for that kind of foolishness.

  She cleared her bowl and returned to Ársa. He stood on a beach staring out into the waves. Whatever for? Did he think his beloved Moriko was drowned? Too bad she hasn’t.

  Chéile focused on her husband and managed to Travel to a spot short distance off to his left as he stood facing the ocean. Her heart pounded with nerves and excitement. She felt jubilation at her successful Travel. She was about to move forward and speak to him when a movement out in the water caught her eye and she stopped to watch the scene with renewed interest. Who is that white-haired man? I haven’t seen him before. She watched the handsome fellow leave the waves to stand beside Ársa on the beach. The wind wasn’t in her favor and she could only hear their conversation sporadically, but she didn’t dare move any closer.