'Good thinking.'
'Now that you're here, Sister, we should be off to check the others.' His expression darkened again. To make sure no one heard anything.'
She nodded. 'And you had better hope Swordsman An-dellmere is careful and doesn't fall off a wall and break his neck, or I will come looking for you.' He gave an annoyed grunt. 'But if you hear him repeat so much as a single word of what he heard tonight, you find a Sister before you stop to take another breath.'
Through the door and halfway down the inner hall, she stopped and felt the shields. She held the book to her breast in both arms as she concentrated, searching for the breach. She smiled when she found it: a tiny twist in the weave. He had probably been picking at it for years. She closed her eyes and wove the breach together, binding it with a barb of power that would thwart him if he tried the same thing again. She was ruefully impressed by his ingenuity, and his persistence. Well, she sighed to herself, what else had he to do?
Inside his spacious apartments the lamps were lit. Tapestries hung on one of the walls, and the floors were generously covered with the local colorful, blue and yellow carpets. The bookshelves were half empty. Books that belonged on them lay open everywhere; some on the chairs and couches, some facedown on pillows on the floor, and some stacked in disheveled piles next to his favorite chair beside the cold hearth.
Sister Margaret went to the elegant, polished rosewood writing table to the side of the room. She sat at the padded chair and, opening the book on the desktop, flipped through it until she came to a clean page at the end of the writing. She didn't see the Prophet anywhere. He was probably in the garden. The double doors to the small garden were open, letting in a gentle breath of warm air. From a drawer in the desk she took an ink bottle, pen, and a small sprinkle box of fine sand, setting them beside the open book of prophecies.
When she looked up, he was standing in the half light in the doorway to the garden, watching her. He was in black robes with the hood drawn up. He stood motionless, his hands in the sleeves of the opposite arms. He filled the doorway not just with his size, but with his presence.
She wiggled the stopper from the ink bottle. 'Good evening, Nathan.'
He took three strong, slow strides out of the shadows and into the lamplight, pushing back the black hood to uncover his full head of long, straight, white hair that touched his broad shoulders. The top of the metal collar just barely showed at the neck of his robes. The muscles in his strong, clean-shaven jaw tightened. White eyebrows hooded his deep, dark, azure eyes. He was a ruggedly handsome man, despite being the oldest man she had ever known.
And, he was quite mad. Or he was quite clever, and wanted everyone to think he was mad. She wasn't sure which was true. No one was.
Either way, he was probably the most dangerous man alive.
'Where is the Prelate?' he asked in a deep, menacing voice.
She picked up the pen. 'It is the middle of the night, Nathan. We are not going to wake the Prelate simply because you throw a fit, demanding she come. Any Sister can write down a prophecy. Why don't you sit down and we can begin.'
He came to the desk, opposite her, towering over her. 'Don't test me, Sister Margaret. This is important.'
She glowered up at him. 'And don't you test me, Nathan. Need I remind you that you will lose? Now that you have gotten me out of my bed in the middle of the night, let's get this over so I may return to it and try to salvage a part of a night's sleep.'
'I asked for the Prelate. This is important.'
'Nathan, we have yet to decipher prophecies you gave us years ago. It could not possibly make any difference if you give this one to me and she reads it in the morning, or next week, or next year for that matter.'
'I have no prophecy to give.'
Her anger rose. 'You have called me from my bed for company?'
A broad smile spread on his lips. 'Would you object? It's a beautiful night. You are a handsome enough woman, if a little tightly wound.' He cocked his head to the side. 'No? Well, since you have come, and must have a prophecy, would you like me to tell you of your death?'
The Creator will take me when He chooses. I will leave it to Him.'
He nodded, staring off over her head. 'Sister Margaret, would you have a woman sent to visit me? I find I am lonely of late.'
'It is not the task of the Sisters to procure harlots for you.'
'But they have seen to a courtesan for me in the past, when I have given prophecies.'
With deliberate care, she set the pen on the desk. 'And the last one left before we could talk to her. She ran back half naked and half mad. How she got through the guards, we still don't know.
'You promised not to speak prophecies to her. You promised, Nathan. Before we could find her she had repeated what you had told her. It spread like a wild fire. It started a civil war. Nearly six thousand people died because of what you told that young woman.'
His worried, white eyebrows went up. 'Really? I never knew.'
She took a deep breath and spoke in a soft voice to control her anger. 'Nathan, I myself have told you this three times now.'
He looked down with sad eyes. 'I'm sorry, Margaret.'
'Sister Margaret.'
'Sister? You? You are far too young and attractive to be a Sister. Surely you are but a novice.'
She stood. 'Good night, Nathan.' She closed the cover on the book and started to pick it up.
'Sit down, Sister Margaret,' came his voice, again full of power and menace.
'You have nothing to tell me. I am returning to my bed.'
'I did not say I had nothing to tell you. I said I had no prophecy to give.'
'If you have had no vision and have no prophecy, what could you possibly have to tell me?'
He withdrew his hands from his sleeves and placed his knuckles on the desk, leaning close to her face. 'Sit down, or I won't tell you.'
Margaret contemplated using her power, but decided that it was easier, and quicker, to simply make him happy and sit down. 'All right, I'm sitting. What is it?'
He leaned over even more, his eyes going wide. There has been a fork in the prophecies,' he whispered.
She felt herself rising out of the chair. 'When?'
'Just today. This very day.'
Then why have you called me in the middle of the night?'
'I called out as soon as it came to me.'
'And why have you not waited until the morning to tell us this? There have been forks before.'
He slowly shook his head as he smiled. 'Not like this one.'
She didn't relish telling the others. No one was going to be happy about this. No one but Warren, that is. He would be in a state of glee to have a piece to fit into the puzzle of the prophecies. The others, though, would not be pleased. This meant years of work.
Some prophecies were 'if and 'then' prophecies, bifurcating into several possibilities. There were prophecies that followed each branch, prophecies to foretell events of each fork, since not even the prophecies always knew which events would come to pass.
Once one of these kind of prophecies came to pass and resolved which fork was to be true, and one of the alternatives took place, a prophecy had forked, as it was called. All the prophecies that followed down the path that had been voided now became false prophecies. These themselves multiplied, like the branches of a tree, clogging the sacred prophecies with confusing, contradicting, and false information. Once a fork had occurred, the prophecies they now knew to be false had to be followed as far as could be traced, and pulled out.
It was a formidable task. The further the event in question was from the fork, the more difficult it was to know if it was of the false fork, or of the true. Worse, it was difficult to tell if two prophecies, one following another, belonged together. or if they were to happen a thousand years apart. Sometimes the events themselves helped them to decipher where it was to be placed chronologically, but only sometimes. The further in time from the fork, the more difficult was the task of relat
ing them.
The effort would take years, and even then, they could be sure only of accomplishing part of it. To this day, they could not know with confidence if they were reading a true prophecy, or the descendant of a false fork in the past. For this reason, some considered the prophecies unreliable at best, useless at worst. But if they now'knew of a fork, and more importantly, knew the true and the false branches, they would have a valuable guide.
She sank back into the chair. 'How important is the prophecy that forked?'
'It is a core prophecy. There could be none more important.'
Decades. It wouldn't take years, it would take decades. A core prophecy touched almost everything. Her insides fluttered. This was like going blind. Until the tainted fruit of the false fork could be culled, they couldn't trust anything.
She looked up into his eyes. 'You do know which it was that forked?'
He smiled proudly. 'I know the false fork, and the true. I know what has come to pass.'
Well, at least there was that. She felt a ripple of excitement. If Nathan could tell her which fork was true, and which was false, and the nature of each branch, it would be valuable information indeed. Since the prophecies were not in chronological order, there was no way to simply follow a branch, but this would be a very good start: they would know right where to begin. Better yet, they had learned of it as it happened, and not years later.
'You have done well, Nathan.' He grinned like a child who had pleased his mother. 'Bring a chair close, and tell me of the fork.'
Nathan seemed drawn up in the excitement as he pulled a chair to the side of the desk. He flounced down in it, squirming like a puppy with a stick. She hoped she wouldn't have to hurt him to get this stick out of his mouth.
'Nathan, can you tell me the prophecy that has forked?'
His eyes twinkled with mischief. 'Are you sure you want to know, Sister Margaret? Prophecies are dangerous. The last time I told one to a pretty lady, thousands died. You said so yourself.'
'Nathan, please. It's late. This is very important.'
The mirth left his face. 'I don't remember the words, exactly.'
She doubted the truth of that; when it came to prophecies, Nathan's mind saw the words as if they were written on a stone tablet. She put a reassuring hand on his arm. That is to be understood. I know it is difficult to remember every word. Tell it as best you can.'
'Well, let's see.' He looked at the ceiling as he stroked his chin with his thumb and fingertips. 'It is the one that says something about the one from D'Hara who would shadow the world by counting shadows.'
'That's very good, Nathan. Can you remember more?' She knew he probably remembered it word for word, but he liked to be coaxed. 'It would be a tremendous help to me.' He eyed her a moment and then nodded. 'By winter's breath, the counted shadows shall bloom. If the heir to D'Hara's vengeance counts the shadows true, his umbra will darken the world. If he counts false, then his life is forfeit.'
'A forked prophecy indeed. This had been the first full day of winter's season.' She didn't know what the prophecy meant, but she knew of it. This one was the matter of much study and debate down in the vaults, and worry over which year this prophecy might come to pass. 'And which fork has the prophecy taken?'
His face turned grim. The worst one.' Her fingers fumbled with a button. 'We are to fall under the shadow of this one from D'Hara?'
'You should study the prophecies closer, Sister. The following prophecy goes on to say: Should the forces of forfeit be loosed, the world will be shadowed yet by darker lust through what has been rent. Salvation's hope, then, will be as slim as the white blade of the one born True.' He leaned closer and whispered, The only one of darker lust, Sister Margaret, would be the Lord of Anarchy.'
She whispered a prayer. 'May the Creator shelter us in his light.'
His smile was mocking. The prophecy says nothing about the Creator coming to our aid, Sister. If it is protection you seek, you had better follow the true fork. It is in that way He has offered you a glimmer of hope for defense from what will be.'
She smoothed the folds of her dress on her lap. 'Nathan, I don't know what this prophecy means. We can't follow the true and false forks if we don't know what it means. You said you know those forks. Can you tell me? Can you tell me a prophecy on each fork, one that leads each way, so we may follow their path?'
'Vengeance under the Master will extinguish every adversary. Terror, hopelessness, and despair will reign free.' He peered at her intently with one eye. This one leads down the false fork.'
She wondered how it was possible for the true prophecy to be worse. 'And one of the true fork?'
'A close prophecy after the true fork says: Of all there were, but a single one born of the magic to bring forth truth will remain alive when the shadow's threat is lifted. Therefore comes the greater darkness of the dead. For there to be a chance at life's bond, this one in white must be offered to her people, to bring their joy and good cheer.'
Margaret pondered these two prophecies. She didn't recall either. The first seemed simple enough to understand. They could follow the false branch, for a ways, anyway, from this one. The second was more oblique, but seemed as if it could be deciphered with a little study. She recognized it as a prophecy about a Confessor. The reference to 'one in white' meant the Mother Confessor.
Thank you Nathan. This will make the false fork easier to follow. The other, the true fork, will be a little harder, but with this prophecy to lead the way, we should be able to reason it out. We will just have to look for prophecies leading away from this event. Somehow she is to bring happiness to her people.' That brought a small smile to her lips. 'It sounds as if maybe she is to be wed, or something of that nature.'
The Prophet blinked at her, then threw his head back and howled. He rose to his feet, roaring in laughter until he coughed and choked. He turned back to her, his face red.
'You pompous fools! The way you Sisters strut around as if what you do is meaningful, as if you even knew what you were doing! You remind me of a yard of chickens, cackling to one another as if they thought they understood higher mathematics! I cast the grain of prophecy at your feet, and you cluck and scratch at the dirt, and then peck at gravel!'
For the first time since she became a Sister, she felt small and ignorant. 'Nathan, that will be quite enough.'
'Idiots,' he hissed.
He lurched toward her so quickly it frightened her. Before she knew it, she had released a bolt of power. It dropped him to his knees. He clutched at his chest as he gasped. Margaret recalled her power almost instantly, sorry she had reacted in this manner: out of fear.
'I apologize, Nathan. You frightened me. Are you all right?'
He grasped the chair back, drawing himself up into it as he gasped. He nodded. She sat still, ill at ease, waiting for him to recover.
A grim smile spread on his lips. 'Frightened you, did I? Would you like to be really frightened? Would you like me to show you a prophecy? Not tell you the words, but show it to you? Show it to you the way it was meant to be passed on? I have never shown a Sister before. You all study them and think you can decipher their meaning from the words, but you don't understand. That is not the true way they work.'
She leaned forward. 'What do you mean that is not the way they work? They are meant to foretell, and that is what they do.'
He shook his head. 'Only partly. They are passed on by ones with the gift, ones like me: prophets. They are intended to be read and understood through the gift, by ones with the gift, ones like me, not to be picked over by the likes of your power.'
As he straightened himself, pulling the aura of authority around himself again, she studied his face. She had never heard of such a thing. She wasn't sure if he was telling the truth, or just talking out of anger. But if it was the truth ...
'Nathan, anything you could tell me, or show me, would be a great help. We are all struggling on the side of the Creator. His cause must prevail. The forces of the Nameless One st
ruggle always to silence us. Yes, I would like you to show me a prophecy the way it is meant to be passed on. if you can.'
He drew himself up, peering at her with burning intensity. At last he spoke softly. 'Very well, Sister Margaret.' He leaned toward her, his expression so grave it nearly took her breath away.
'Look into my eyes,' he whispered. 'Lose yourself in my eyes.'
His gaze drew her in, the deep, azure color spreading in her vision until it seemed she was looking up into the clear sky. She felt as if he were drawing every breath for her.
'I will tell you the prophecy of the true fork again, but this time, I will show it to you as it is meant to be.' She floated as she listened. 'Of all there were, but a single one born of the magic to bring forth truth will remain alive ...'
2 - Stone of Tears Page 7
