“Hello, my friends,” she says, hiccupping.
“Hi, Beatrice,” Kismet says with a small smile. “Do you know why the music stopped?”
Beatrice giggles. “It’s time for the Prophetess’s message.” She slurs her words, but the effect of what she says is the same.
Kismet gapes at her. “The Prophetess came to The Festival?”
“The hermit woman who lives in Hiroshima?” I say.
“That is correct!” Beatrice says, poking my shoulder and laughing.
“I thought she never even left her house if she could help it. Now she’s flown all the way from Japan to Seattle?”
Beatrice nods and then frowns. “There’s something very important she has to say that concerns us all.” Her voice is somber, but then she bursts out in a fit of giggles again, clutching her stomach and spilling some of her wine. Kismet steadies her. Beatrice slaps Kismet’s hands away and then turns around.
“Everybody’s talking about this. How come we know nothing?” Kismet asks me in a low voice.
“We haven’t been our usual social selves lately,” I joke, because we’re never social, not if we can help it. “So I don’t know. But I want to find out, and I want to find out soon.” And I don’t have to wait too long.
The whispers suddenly die out in unison. Everyone looks to the back of the hall, where there’s a wooden stage set up with a stand on top of it. There’s no one on stage, but I see the crowd parting to my right and hear people gasping in surprise. I strain my neck to see who it is.
“What is it?” Kismet says, standing on the tips of her toes.
“It’s the Prophetess. She’s walking up to the stage.” Then I notice something that turns my blood ice-cold. “Rafael is with her.” The crowd continues to part all the way up to the front, where a small, delicate-looking lady in an all-white Kimono walks up the stairs of the stage.
A man with an angelic face, not older than fifty, also dressed in staggering white robes, follows suit. His eyes are a piercing black, his features perfect, his command over the crowd total. Everyone stands in awe of them, but he is greater than she, of course. After all, he’s Rafael, world leader of The Children of the Sun…. The superior with the highest rank of our tribe.
I haven’t seen him in at least two years, but he looks the same. Still capable of instantly drawing attention. Still capable of making me feel sick whenever I lay eyes upon him—the man that my entire kind adores. Like I want to run far, far away from him—or fight him to the death. Either would work.
Perhaps it’s just me, but all my instincts tell me he’s a phony. A big one. And that feeling now is stronger than ever.
Two other superiors, managing to look both pissed off and bored at the same time, follow Rafael, staying two steps behind. The Prophetess walks slowly, in very small steps. Her back is straight, and her eyes look forward. She has a long, black braid that reaches the small of her back. Her face is mostly smooth and pale, but even from the back of the room I can see some visible lines at the corners of her eyes.
She reaches the stand and faces us. Rafael stands to her left and smiles down at all of us, looking for all purposes like a saint on earth. “Welcome, my brothers and sisters!” He says, his voice steady. “It is such a sweet pleasure to see all of you here tonight! For those of you who don’t know, this is the Prophetess of our Tribe.” He bows to her, and she gives him a slight nod of her head in response. “Needless to say, I am beyond honored to host the visit of such an important and prominent figure here in Agartha, but I feel even more blessed to be surrounded by such distinguished ladies and gentlemen, such as yourself. Thank you all for gracing us with your presence in our annual Summer Solstice Celebration. I believe the occassion merits a round of applause!” He claps, and everybody follows suit. But they don’t stop there. Soon enough people of all races and backgrounds are united together in a cacophany of stomping feets and maniacal whistles. I even hear some people screaming out Rafael’s name. You would think this was the second coming of Christ or something.
I stare up at Rafael, see him standing above everyone, soaking up every ounce of adoration from the crowd, his palms together at the front of his heart, his head bent slightly to the side.
Am I the only one who sees the fakeness?
I squeeze my hands into fists and feel my nails digging into my palms. The Prophetess raises her hand, and slowly Rafael does the same, beckoning for people to settle down. After a while the hall becomes silent once again. I turn to look at Kismet and see she’s staring at the Prophetess, her eyes narrowed. The Prophetess whispers something in Rafael’s ear, and he nods.
“The Prophetess insists someone from the crowd interpret tonight.” Rafael says. “Is there anyone here other than me who speaks Japanese?” A dozen hands go up in the air at once. Rafael scans the faces of the volunteers, studying them briefly. “You,” he finally says, pointing at a tall boy to my left, who seems to be about my age, “…if you would be so kind.”
The boy scurries forward, nudging people and pushing them aside until he reaches the stage. He jumps onto it and bows to the Prophetess, his nose practically touching the floor. The Prophetess stares at him. She moves her head down a fraction of an inch.
“What’s your name?” Rafael asks him.
“Taisuke-kun,” the Prophetess answers softly, and the boy’s jaw drops.
“Taisuke is my name,” he says, in perfect English. “She’s guessed it.” The sides of the Prophetess’s lips turn up into a small, proud smile. Then she turns serious again, scanning the crowd with lightning-quick eyes.
Finally she speaks, and her strong low voice reverberates through the hall. Some people jump, taken by surprise. “A great evolution is coming for our kind,” she roars in Japanese. Every few sentences, Taisuke translates what she’s saying to English. “The time is coming when our enemies will tremble in fear and prostrate themselves at our feet, begging for mercy!” She hits the stand with her hand, almost toppling it over. “Witches cannot see this because it is not written in the ordinary fabrics of existence. It is written further, in the canvas of life that no species can access, that no eyes can see, except mine!”
There really is no better phrase to describe what I’m feeling at this moment other than: What. The. Fuck.
Then her black eyes lock onto mine, and I find I can’t look away, no matter how hard I try. I begin to hear a faint ringing in my ears.
“This is destiny, written in the folds of space and time. Nothing can stop it, not our enemies, not even us.” Her tone becomes quieter, more subdued. Still, she looks at me. I try to fight her, try to look away, try not to completely freak out right now because that would show weakness, and this lady looks like she can smell weakness the way sharks smell blood.
A bead of sweat rolls down from my temple to my chin. The harder I try to fight her, to try to get out of this weird-ass mental lock she has on me, the stronger the ringing in my ears gets. The Prophetess finally releases my gaze, and I let out a breath, clutching my chest.
Why couldn’t I look away? I shake my head, trying to release the remnants of whatever Jedi mind control trick she played on me. No, never mind the trick. I’ll have plenty of time to mull that shit over later. What I should really focus on is figuring out what the hell she’s talking about.
“What kind of evolution, Prophetess?” I hear someone yell from behind me, echoing my thoughts. He’s probably echoing everyone’s thoughts, with what I gather from the confused looks on people’s faces. “This is unheard of; our kind has never evolved!” I recognize the voice. It is one of the men from Chile we talked to earlier.
Taisuke translates what he said into Japanese.
“That is yet to be seen,” she answers, articulating every word carefully. “If your weak heart cannot believe that the fates have chosen to bless us, you do not deserve to be in our company, you impious fool!”
Like sharks smell blood.
“Anyone who does not believe my vision is welcome to lea
ve us, once and for all, and become our enemy. Is that what you wish, fool?”
The color drains from the man’s face. “No, Prophetess,” he says, and to his credit his voice is calm. “My faith in you is total and infinite.”
“Good,” the Prophetess says, looking away. “I do not know what kind of evolution awaits us. But I tell you this, my people, my brethren. The fates have chosen to bless us with our power so that we may help the weak, feeble humans by giving them health and life. We are a gift to the world.” Her voice is soft, and she almost looks kind.
Then a shadow comes over her face. “But now comes the time when we must no longer serve humanity, but rule it!” Her voice thunders through the room. A cold shiver runs down my spine at the same time a collective gasp ripples through the crowd. Amidst all the panic and confusion storming my thoughts, I can hear a tiny voice inside me saying that this is it… The Prophetess has finally lost her mind.
“We will destroy our enemies, those filthy, mongering Immortals, and conquer humanity, reclaiming the throne that was stolen from us so long ago!” I shudder, and Kismet grabs onto my arm with both hands, as if she’ll faint.
“Don’t be afraid,” the Prophetess continues, her voice stern. “But be prepared. When the time comes, we must strike once, and we must strike true. If we are victorious, an Age of Light will come, and there will be peace under our reign. Then our true selves will come alive.”
She smiles, an eerie glow radiating from her face as she lifts her hands to the air. “The first of you to evolve will become the new leader of our people! The fates will choose the right one to rule over the earth.” She closes her eyes, and I can almost feel everyone holding their breath. Or is it just me?
Taisuke looks fearful and unsure of what to do. The Prophetess bows to us, placing both her hands together in a prayer. She stands up straight again, and slowly walks away.
I shudder as I watch her go, knowing that her face and voice will be etched into my mind forever.
-*-
The Festival dies off after the Prophetess’s speech. The musicians start playing again, but people don’t dance. Most of them leave Agartha immediately. The rest of the people scatter and leave the Common Hall one by one, until the musicians are forced to stop playing and admit to themselves that the party’s over. They pack up their instruments and also leave.
Rafael and the Prophetess are nowhere to be seen.
“That Prophetess is such a party pooper,” Henrick says, walking up to us. He gulps down his cup of wine and throws the plastic cup on the ground. “I guess I’m done for the night. See you guys.” He burps unpleasantly and walks away. I’m amazed at his ability to be completely unfazed by what he just witnessed.
Kismet picks up the cup and sets it down on the buffet table. We help clean up a bit and then head toward the dormitories.
“What do you suppose she meant?” Kismet asks me in a hushed whisper as we trail our way through the winding, undulating stairs that lead to the Common Hall.
“I have no idea,” I say. “But whatever it is, it can’t be good.”
I decide not to tell Kismet about how the Prophetess managed to somehow lock my gaze with hers for minutes. She’s probably had enough for one night. God knows I have.
So we go to bed, and when I lie down I notice that my brain feels slightly achey. Kismet tosses and turns beside me, fidgety and nervous. I want to help her and maybe talk to her about how we’re feeling, after all. But soon enough I feel a dullness seeping in from the corners of my being, and then sleep takes over me immediately.
Delusional
When Kismet and I wake up the next day, we don’t say a word to each other about last night. Knowing me, I probably imagined that stupid Jedi trick, or induced it to myself or some shit. Knowing Kismet, she probably wants to mull over the whole event inside her head before coming to any kind of conclusion.
So we dress in silence and walk over to the Dining Hall for breakfast, which has been restored to its usual drabness during the night. We pass people with somber faces in the corridors, all of them silent, as if we had somehow all come to the conclusion that the best thing to do was to ignore everything that happened.
That way, maybe we can forget. Lock it up deep inside our minds, like we lock up so many memories, so many private grievances and so much confusion, and move on.
The day passes by in a rather dull fashion. Kismet and I spend the afternoon playing cards in the Common Dormitory Hall and then training in the battle center. We are both getting better in hand-to-hand combat. We can’t afford to be lacking in this, not after what happened a few nights ago. I think briefly about Benedict, and wonder how he’s holding up in solitary. I don’t think I’ll visit him again.
“Ouch, that hurt!” Kismet complains, rubbing her arm. I’d kicked her harder than I meant to.
“Sorry,” I say. “I got distracted.” I force myself to be in the moment, and we continue fighting until our bodies crumple to the ground against our will, completely exhausted.
“You really should think about finding a weapon,” I tell her as we sit down on the floor, panting and gasping for breath. I take one of my knives out from its leather sheath and twirl it around my fingers. “Very few Immortals fight with weapons; it would give you an advantage.”
“A lot of good that did for you last time,” she says, panting.
“Yes, well, that was an exception,” I mutter, and she snorts.
We take a bath after we finish training and then go to dinner. We eat leftovers from the festival, which is still better than any food we have tasted in a long time. Henrick sits at our table, as usual. I don’t have the energy to tell him to take a hike, and before I know it, the kid starts babbling in the middle of his dinner about how insane the Prophetess is and how he doesn’t believe her and how she’s probably less than lucid, anyway.
I sigh to myself. I thought we had all collectively, silently agreed to lock this up forever in the deep crevices of our mind, never to be discussed again?
“Has anybody mentioned what she said about our true selves coming alive once again?” Kismet suddenly asks, an urgent ring to her voice. I look at her, trying to disguise my surprise. She’s been thinking about this way more than I have.
“Nobody even knows what the hell that means,” he says.
“Henrick, you have to do something about that disgusting habit of yours,” I interrupt. “Didn’t your mom tell you it’s bad manners to speak with food in your mouth?” He glares at me. “And stop talking shit, I haven’t heard anyone mention a single word about what happened last night.”
“That’s because you’re an anti-social moron,” he says. “The only other people you talk to besides us is Benedict and Beatrice. One’s locked up and and the other’s working, so what did you expect?”
I narrow my eyes at him, but say nothing. He does make a valid point.
“But there are a few people who are acting kind of weird,” Henrick tells Kismet, his brows furrowing.
“Weird?” I ask, becoming curious despite my efforts not to get involved in this whole affair. “Weird how?”
“I’ve heard comments.” He says, voice lowering.
“What kind of comments?” Kismet says.
Henrick shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “You know, like how it’s time for our kind to stop being the servants of humanity and how we’ll finally rise up against the Immortals and stuff like that…”
“What? They’re talking about a full-blown war?” I whisper. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, he’s not,” Kismet says. “I’ve heard them too.”
“You have?”
“Yes, you’re just not observant enough.” She sighs, picking at her food with her fork.
“That hurts, babe.” I say in jest, driving an imaginary stake through my heart.
“You know it’s true, mi amor.” She says. “I’ve always believed in our cause. I’ve always believed in healing good people. And while killing all of the Immo
rtals would be nice,” she says with a glint of rage in her eyes, “I wouldn’t want to rule over humans. I wouldn’t want to rule over anyone.”
Henrick snickers. “You’d be the only one.”
“No, not the only one,” I say, my voice hard.
“Yeah, and I guess you wouldn’t like to, either.” He rolls his eyes. “But you guys are different. You’re not ambitious. I, for one, can’t think of a reason why we shouldn’t rule if we got the chance.”
“Because we’re not meant to,” I say, voice hard. “Humans would become our slaves.” My mind flashes back to my meeting with Benedict. How guilty he felt, how he wished he didn’t have our power. “And you have to ask yourself how strong our moral code really is if a crazy old lady can turn everything upside down with one little speech.”
“Ease up, buddy!” Henrick says. “I said if we got the chance. I still think that lady is bat-shit crazy and completely delusional. I mean, our kind has existed for what, a thousand years, maybe more?”
“It was 800 B.C. when our powers started manifesting themselves in our kind,” Kismet responds automatically. “When the first human was blessed with the power to heal. But our history is passed down orally, so it’s bound to be a little off—”
“Yeah, whatever,” Henrick interrupts, holding up a hand. I snort, and Kismet narrows her eyes at me. I clear my throat and bring a fork-full of food to my mouth, avoiding her gaze. “It’s still a long-ass time.” Henrick continues. “If our powers haven’t evolved in so long, then what’s different now?”
“That is true.” Kismet admits.
“You sound surprised.” Henrick mumbles. “I’m not dumb, you know.”
“Not as dumb as I think you are, anyway,” I say with satisfaction. He glares at me.
“Oh, how I love to watch you seethe.” I say, reclining in the wooden chair.
Our conversation is cut short when a man in a white uniform walks up to our table and sets down a piece of paper between Kismet and me. “Another Mission for you guys this month, tonight at 11:00 PM,” he says, adding “Lucky you…” under his breath. The man throws another piece of paper to Henrick. “Capturing duty with Bob, 8:00 PM.” He walks away to deliver more duties to the other tables, and I pick up our paper.
The Sun Child (The Sun Child Saga Book 1) Page 6
