by R. J. Larson
“I give you my word, Prophet, I’ll heed the warning. Don’t worry—it’s only one day.”
“Yes, but this will be the longest separation we’ve faced since our wedding.”
Kien chuckled. “Poor love. Again, don’t worry. I’ll think of you every other instant.” He sealed his pledge with kisses, coaxing Ela to set aside her fears and lose herself in his embrace.
Moving around the dais, Ela gathered the morning meal’s utensils and bowls in the dim light. Through the hall’s open doorway, she heard the men talking quietly to one another and to their horses. Pet grunted and stomped a foot, sending a tremor through the tiled floor.
Cranky, bad-tempered monster-warhorse.
But why call Pet cranky and bad-tempered when she was just as unsettled and irritable this morning? Not to mention tired and sore . . . scared and . . .
She ran outside, down the steps and into the predawn light, her short boots and mantle sweeping through the grass. “Kien!” He turned. Ela charged into his arms and hugged him in farewell, breathing in the odors of smoke and furs he’d used to mask his scent for the hunt. Infinite? Was this the last time she’d see her husband? “Be safe. Remember the warning.”
Kien’s laugh hinted at indulgence, and his lips were warm as he kissed her. “I’ll never forget a warning from my favorite prophet! Ela, don’t worry. We’ll return by sunset, but if we’re going to reach the ideal place to harvest some venison, we must leave now.”
Fighting tears, she watched him climb onto Pet’s back. Ela smoothed the destroyer’s face, then waved as Kien rode off with Akabe, Riddig, and fifteen of the guards. When they’d vanished from sight, she returned to the hall.
Trying to ignore her disquiet, she prayed, washed the dishes in a bucket, rested awhile, prayed again, then climbed the spiraling stairs. She needed more sleep. As she turned toward the chamber she shared with Kien, a muffled, tortured sound halted her. Sobs cut through the closed door from the chamber at her left. “Lady?”
Ela rapped on the chamber door and peeked inside. Caitria lay on a pallet, crying with all the despair of someone in deepest mourning. Surveying the barren room, Ela gasped.
This chamber . . . that window . . .
Fighting nausea, Ela stepped into her vision’s beginning.
22
Ela kneeled beside Caitria, trying to focus on the young queen’s grief instead of her own dread. Time. They still had time.
Infinite? I realize the queen doesn’t acknowledge You. But for the sake of Your Name, my beloved Creator, please give me Your wisdom.
Calm dropped over Ela—an unseen spiritual mantle, temporarily separating her from fear. Heartened by His unspoken agreement, Ela touched Caitria’s thin shoulder. The queen stiffened, audibly gulping down a sob. Ela lifted her hand. “Majesty—”
Caitria gave in to fresh sobs. “D-don’t call me that! I don’t deserve it! Ela, I’m nothing but evil to him.” Her words becoming a mourner’s cry, she added, “He m-must set me aside!”
Oh. Ela stared at the sobbing girl. “You do love your husband.”
Caitria sat up and hugged her knees. Her delicate nose was bright pink, her eyes red and swollen. Had she been crying ever since she’d left their morning meal? A violent shudder wracked Caitria’s body and words. “E-ever since . . . I first s-saw him, I think. Yes, I’m infatuated! Oh, Ela! I love him. I do! But I c-can’t endure this—I’m all to pieces! If Akabe dies because of m-me, I . . . I’ll . . .”
Seizing upon the queen’s trailing words, Ela asked, “Why would he die because of you?”
Caitria wiped her eyes, sniffling moistly. “M-my family scorns Akabe, though he doesn’t deserve their contempt.” Her expression hardened now, tears giving way to anger. “You should have heard my father and my brother Cyril when they learned Akabe’s beliefs as king! They said he and the Infinite’s followers were fools—spiritually oppressive. And Ruestock called Akabe a peasant nobody. It sickens me that I’m related to him!”
Ela blinked, trying to absorb Caitria’s furious babble. “Ruestock? How is he involved?”
“He visits and hovers—a living blight. He told my lord-father that if I should bear Akabe a child, then I would rule as regent-queen when Akabe died. When. As if Akabe’s death was planned! Not that I knew for sure. I was chased away after hearing this—I’m nothing but a silly girl to my family.” Some of Caitria’s wrath faded. “Power and money . . . my lord-father couldn’t resist the temptation! I’m sure he believed he could hide until the uproar faded. I was instructed to be loyal to my lord-father and the Thaenfall name.” Groping for a linen scarf, she blew her nose. “Horrid name! I’d been proud to be raised a Thaenfall. But now it means nothing! I’m nothing!”
“Lady, that’s not true.”
“It is! Akabe hasn’t slaughtered Ateans unjustly, but it’s clear that Thaenfalls and their sorts conspired to kill Akabe’s entire family. It’s all so wrong!” She swallowed. “Ela, I must protect him!”
Caitria hugged her knees again, clearly swept into wistful thoughts of Akabe. “Besides Naynee, he’s the only person to ever defend me. And he’s amazing—the handsomest, dearest man! For both our sakes, I’ve tried to keep my distance from him since our wedding, but I can’t! Just to see his dimples when he smiles and hearing his voice makes me weak. I feel so safe in his arms—so protected! His kisses are—”
Ela lifted her hands. “No, no! He’s my king, and I don’t want to know about his kisses!”
A hint of a smile brightened Caitria’s exquisite, tear-streaked face. “I suppose I’m glad you feel that way.” Her pleasure turned desperate. “Ela, what should I do? I love Akabe more than anyone alive, but I’m so trapped and useless!”
“Are your father and brothers plotting against the king’s life?”
Pressing both hands to her head, Caitria shut her eyes. “I don’t know! I’m going mad with the uncertainty, particularly after my cousins tried to kill him. But yesterday—watching Akabe mourn for his family—I loathed being a Thaenfall and Atean.”
Cautious, measuring her words, Ela asked, “Are you Atean in deeds, or only in name?”
The queen studied her, wary now. “Am I devout, you mean? Have I offered sacrifices or attended Atean rites?” She shook her head. “No. I was taught to offer prayers and nominal sacrifices, but I haven’t been trusted enough to join the rites. I’m loyal because my family follows the goddess. We’ve been Ateans for generations.”
“You’re loyal to your heritage, then. Not to Atean ways.”
“I suppose.” Her tone hardened now, resistant to further questions. Defiant to her Creator.
All right. At least she was calmer. Ela stood, aware of sunlight peeking into the chamber. Her own calm faded with the brightening glow. She was unable to prevent what must happen, but at least she could prepare.
Watching the sunlight’s telling angle, she said, “My loyalties are first to my beloved Creator, the Infinite. Then to my husband. And . . .” She threw a half smile at the queen, who looked ready to argue. “I’m loyal to our anointed king. Believe me, Kien and I will do everything within our power to protect Akabe, even if it means giving our lives.”
Her coolness easing, Caitria nodded. “Thank you. I honor your views, though I disagree with your religion.”
Ela studied the sunlight again, trying to measure it against her vision. Trying to quell her nausea. By now the king was far enough away. Safe. Infinite, let Pet sense nothing!
Speaking gently to avoid upsetting the queen again, Ela said, “Lady, please let me find a cloak for you, and pins . . . and your leggings and some boots. You’ll need them today, and for the next few days.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere.”
“Before midday, we will.” Ela crossed to the window and checked their horses, grazing undisturbed down in the ragged central yard. “I need to warn our guards. Belaal’s soldiers approach. King Bel-Tygeon intends to capture me—and his men think I don’t realiz
e it.” Quietly, she said, “Majesty, you must depart with our guards.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere without my husband.” Caitria stared, then sniffed, lifting her chin. “Oh. You’re suffering a deluded prophet’s fancy.”
Ela shook her head. “If I’m wrong, I deserve to die. The Infinite’s prophets must always declare the truth. And I’ve seen the soldiers’ faces.” Nausea pressed in again, making Ela grip the stone window frame. Infinite? Help me manage the queen! “Majesty, at least humor me enough to don your riding clothes and boots.” Releasing the cold rocks and mortar, Ela scanned the chamber, then headed for Caitria’s pile of belongings.
Caitria stood and stepped in front of her. “You needn’t wait on me. Anyway, you’re wrong—I’ll enjoy laughing at you tonight. Besides,” she darted a taunting glance at Ela, “I don’t need my leggings and boots if the soldiers are coming for you.”
“Yes you do. They’ve been commanded to seize everyone with me—meaning you, which is why you must leave with our guards.”
“Oh? Well, I suppose one ought to humor the deluded. I’ll dress, but I’m not leaving, whatever you say!” Caitria dug through her tumbled heap of gear and shook out her cloak, taunting, “Should I also don weapons, Prophet?”
Such regal mockery! Ela bit down impatience. “By all means, take weapons. But hide them inside your boots or leggings. If you fasten them to your belt, the soldiers will see and confiscate them at once.”
Caitria stared over her shoulder. “Lady Aeyrievale, you’re actually serious.”
“Yes. And it’s a blessing our husbands departed before the soldiers arrived. Otherwise they would have been captured. Possibly killed.”
“Stop! You’re making me nervous.”
“Heed your fears, Majesty!” Ela retrieved a pin and a comb from Caitria’s gear and offered them to her. “Please reconsider. You must leave with the guards.”
“I’ll not!” The queen glared, proud, furious, and resolute.
“Majesty—”
“No!”
Ela swallowed. “Very well. Please, excuse me. I must prepare.”
“You’re odd,” Caitria complained. “Seriously. For a while, at least, I could pretend you were a normal lady.”
“Your perception of normal will change as the day proceeds.” Ela sped down the stairs, through the hall, and outside. Two guards spied her as she halted before the gate. Catching her breath, she called up, “Sirs, you know I’m a prophet! I’ve suffered a vision, so listen to me. Belaal’s soldiers will attack soon, and you and your comrades are too outnumbered to fight them.”
“Lady,” one guard protested stoutly, rapping the butt of his spear on the ground for emphasis, “I cannot abandon my watch!”
“Listen,” Ela ordered. “As prophet, I command you to leave this gate! Either hide in the woods with your comrades, or wait to be captured and killed. Those are your choices, so choose!” Oh, such rebelliousness! And she hadn’t even commanded them to seize the queen. Could she? Ela frowned. Likely not. By the time they managed to drag Caitria downstairs, it would be too late. Even now, the guards were bickering amongst themselves—squandering time and possibly their lives. She gave them her most ferocious prophet-stare. “I command you! Go!”
Returning to the tower, Ela carefully banked the hearths’ ashes in the hall and the kitchen, then rushed to her chamber, trying to think. Leggings. Boots. Cloak. Branch. She dressed and braided her hair.
She returned to Caitria and found the young queen properly clad, her hair in a thick light-brown knot at the nape of her neck. Seeing Ela, Caitria folded her arms. “Satisfied, Lady Aeyrievale?”
“Not entirely, Majesty. But let the Infinite’s will be done.” A chill prickled over Ela’s scalp and slid along her arms. Closing her eyes, she saw her enemies. “They arrived at the base of the hill before I came up here and realized my vision is today. Even then it was too late. But if we’d confronted them earlier, my destroyer would have sensed our danger and our husbands would have returned and been captured, so be grateful.”
Reminded of her husband, Ela crossed to the window and looked out over the yard. Nothing yet. Though the birds had stopped singing. She sank to her knees and rested her forehead against the branch, praying. Infinite? Please let our guards escape! Kien . . . dear husband, wherever you are, stay away! Protect the king!
A sound drew her into the present. Caitria sat nearby, watching as if trying to decide whether she ought to pity Ela, or tie her up. “Lady Aeyrievale, you’re ill.”
“My visions always make me ill.” And souls threatened by an eternity of fire only worsened her nausea. Depending heavily on the branch, Ela stood.
Caitria said, “Perhaps you should return to your chamber and rest.”
Eyeing the sunlight slanting just so through the window, Ela shook her head. “There’s no time. They’re here. Majesty, tie your leggings, please.”
Even as she spoke, Ela watched the horses stir in the yard, huffing and tugging on their ropes. Distant sounds lifted beyond the gate. Metal clinking. Men’s voices. Dread weighed upon Ela’s spirit. Infinite? I am afraid!
Are you My servant?
Always.
In her hands, the branch turned metallic. Its inner fire spiraled toward the vinewood’s changing surface, sending light through Ela’s fingers. Bracing herself, Ela hissed to Caitria, who now stood beside her staring openmouthed from the branch to the dark-cloaked men gathering before the gate. “Majesty! You’ll need your leggings. Whatever happens, don’t return to the window, please.”
Caitria sat beside her gear. Hands shaking, she obediently knotted the leggings’ laces. Finally! Ela turned toward the window. Beyond the courtyard, a man’s cloaked form entered the gate. He looked up at the tower, obviously seeing the glowing branch. And her. Malevolence contorted his tawny face, making Ela shiver. Infinite? Why such hatred?
In answer, her Creator sent whisperings of the man’s thoughts and hints of his soul. Mortal arrogance personified. Pride mingled with ambition and the longing to avenge the shame he’d suffered at Parne by ensuring her personal degradation and suffering. No! Ela shut her eyes, gasping, horrified by what would happen. Kien, love, stay away! “Infinite! Bless Your Name!”
The leader’s voice called up to her. “Prophet! Our king, Bel-Tygeon—Light of the Heavens—commands you to come down!”
White fire flared from the branch, pouring through Ela, giving her courage despite her tears. Her voice echoed through the yard, bold and defiant. “If I am the Infinite’s prophet, let His holy fire devour you and those renegades beneath your command!”
White flames descended from the blue sky as a curtain of lightning upon the screaming men, sweeping their bodies from life into death and their souls into eternal torment.
Weapons, buckles, and clasps fell amid a clattering of bones and sifting ashes. A terrible silence replaced the sounds of destruction. Ela gulped, staring at the scattered bones and weapons. Behind her, Caitria cried, “Ela! What’s happened?”
“Caitria, stay back, please!” Closing her eyes again, Ela prayed through welling tears. Infinite? Let Your will be fulfilled—may Your enemies bow!
A commander’s distant cry summoned other men to replace the vanquished ones—a single word reaching Ela with horrifying clarity. “Forward!”
Now the second commander screamed at her in a fit of killing rage, “Prophet! Come down at once, or we’ll set this place afire!”
She heard his thoughts. His resolution to torture the woman who’d destroyed his comrades. In Ela’s hands, the branch sent out fierce spirals of light, lending her strength. “If I am the Infinite’s prophet, let His holy fire devour you and those renegades with you!”
Again a curtain of fire fell and swept over the men, cutting off their agonized cries in a haze of ashes and a tumble of weapons and bones. Behind Ela, Caitria screamed. When Ela turned, Caitria backed away, then sat as if her legs failed to support her. Eyes huge, she cover
ed her mouth and stared, her tears matching Ela’s. Silently begging for mercy. For help. Ela shook her head. “I’m sorry! Pray the survivors heed their Creator.”
As Caitria wept, a renewed clatter drew Ela’s attention toward the bone-cluttered gate. Living men replaced the dead. Slowly this time, their heads bowed. And when their leader approached the fortress gate, picking his way through the skeletons and weapons, he knelt and lifted his hands toward Ela in supplication. “Prophet of the Infinite, pity us! We follow the ruling of our king—we are commanded to bring you and your companions to Belaal. Have compassion on me and on my men! Be merciful and let us become servants through your kindness!”
A twist of dread unwound in Ela’s soul, allowing her to breathe. “Infinite?”
Her Creator’s Spirit murmured, Go with those men. You will be safe in their care.
Trembling, Ela called out, “The Infinite sees you! He chooses to be merciful toward you and your men—you won’t die today.” As the commander’s men hurried toward the tower to apprehend them, Ela looked down at Caitria. The queen gasped as if seeing a lethal apparition. She snatched a pair of small sheathed daggers from Akabe’s belongings and shoved one inside her right legging, the other within her right boot, then stood and straightened her long tunic.
At least she hadn’t tried to use one of the daggers on a certain prophet. Ela shifted the branch and listened to their captors rushing up the stairs, their boots echoing inside the stairwell. “Don’t be frightened, Majesty, but we must go with these men. The Infinite commands this, and I cannot prevent it. Now, either we walk down quietly, or they will tie us for fear of their king.”
The men entered the chamber, hands on their swords’ hilts, cautious but clearly determined to fulfill their orders. Ela led Caitria past them and marched down the stairs.
Caitria remained silent until they walked out of the tower. Then, eyeing the seared bones and skulls tumbled around the gate, she shook her head at Ela in disbelief. “You killed them. . . .”
