Prophecy's Daughter

by Richard Phillips

  Darl was overjoyed. He soon had five subordinates working to produce paper and ink regularly. Carol began buying both products for use in the vale schools. When Jason discovered that she had a source, he also initiated his own purchases. The trade between the communities continued to grow, with Rafel’s people providing metal instruments and other crafts while the cliff dwellers supplied vegetables and cloths of various types, along with paper and ink.

  Carol became so busy that she began to fall behind in her other administrations. Not only was she working to establish the schools in Areana’s Vale, but Darl had talked Dan into letting her begin to teach the children of their tribe to read and write.

  Despite the progress she was making within the vale and with the Kanjou, Carol felt an ever-increasing sense of frustration at her inability to overcome the fears that prevented her from casting spells. The meditations needed to wield her power continued to elude her. She had hoped that by visualizing a fortified sanctuary atop a mountain peak and continually adding details, she could retreat there within her mind, locking the terrifying memory of her branding outside. Every time she tried to meditate and did not succeed, she added to the sanctuary, but the technique failed to provide her the protection she required.

  She badly wanted to be able to wield magic once again. Without access to her magic, she had no hope of gaining the power to bring about the meritocracy that Thorean had described within the pages of her most prized book, Liberty. Of all the works she had maintained in her collection back at Rafel’s Keep, she considered this the masterpiece. Thorean had spent his life studying the philosophy of the erudite Endarian culture, specifically the structure of its meritocracy. The Endarians chose a ruler, male or female, from among a group that the high council deemed most intellectually accomplished. And they replaced that ruler whenever another’s talents surpassed hers or his. Fear of the ideas expressed within this tome had driven King Rodan to order Thorean’s execution.

  And something else was troubling her. As time went by, Carol began to feel that Darl was keeping a secret. As the days passed, she grew closer to the adviser, almost as if he was filling the gap left by the loss of Hawthorne. Their growing relationship revealed that something was troubling him. She noticed that, once, when she talked of High Priest Jason and the way the people of the vale looked to the church for their spiritual and physical care, the jovial man grew serious and silent.

  She pressed him to speak openly and plainly, but before changing the subject, Darl simply responded that his reaction was nothing of importance.

  Then the shadows arrived. One morning as Carol made her way up along the cliff walls to the area she used for her classes, she saw a figure clad entirely in black, with a hood pulled over his head. The man was on another rope ladder, staring across the divide at her. When he noticed Carol looking back, the man hurried upward and disappeared into one of the dwellings above.

  “I saw a man in black as I climbed up here,” Carol said when Kira met her at the door to her house. “Do you know who he is?”

  “That was just one of the protectors. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

  “The protectors? Who are they?”

  Kira directed Carol to one of the cushions against the wall and sat down beside her. She leaned back, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “They are the priests of my people.”

  “He didn’t look like any of the tribe members around here.”

  “They aren’t from here. The priests have a temple far to the northwest. They come every summer.”

  “You said that they’re priests. Does that mean that they’re healers, or do they conduct religious ceremonies?”

  “They protect us from evil,” Kira said. She was rocking back and forth on the cushion. Carol could feel a tension building in the air.

  “I’m sorry,” Carol said, putting a hand on Kira’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to inquire too deeply into your beliefs. Anyway, I must be going to my classroom now. It’s almost time for instruction to begin.”

  Relief showed on Kira’s face. “So soon?”

  “I’m afraid so. My duties in Areana’s Vale will require my presence this afternoon.”

  Carol hugged Kira at the door, then stepped out and made her way along the maze of ropes to the open amphitheater that served as a classroom. As usual, the children ran forward to gather around, touching her or just wanting a hug. They were kids, much like any others she had known, except warmer and more innocent.

  The morning classes passed more slowly than usual. She kept thinking about the strange priest and had to force herself to concentrate on phonics. When noon arrived, she dismissed the students and hurried to meet Darl. Perhaps he would fill in some of the missing details.

  The adviser, however, was nowhere to be found in any of his usual haunts. Neither Kira nor Dan had been able to say where he was, although they did not appear concerned.

  “No doubt off studying something,” said Dan.

  Short on time, she abandoned her search and climbed back down the rope ladders to the valley floor. Mounting Storm, Carol made her way home.

  When she reached the outer walls of the lower fort, she knew something was wrong. Too many soldiers were on the wall that blocked the way into the canyon; there was a stir of activity.

  A squad rode out to meet her. She recognized the sergeant leading the group.

  “Lorness Carol, your father sent us to escort you back to the fort,” the sergeant said.

  “What has happened?”

  “Jaradin Scot has been attacked and badly injured. The bastards killed the ranger who was with him.”

  Without waiting for the escort, Carol urged Storm into a run. The mare swiftly outdistanced the horses of the surprised guards as she raced across the drawbridge, through the lower fort, and out its rear gate. She passed through the midfort in the same manner, crossed one final drawbridge, and pulled Storm to a sliding halt inside the upper fort.

  Carol dismounted and tossed the reins to one of the grooms before running to her father’s council chambers.

  The courtyard was bustling. Several soldiers crowded around the doorway to the central hall. The soldiers split and moved aside as Carol approached. She moved quickly between them, pausing just long enough to let her eyes adjust to the dim light inside.

  Her father stepped forward to meet her. “You’ve heard about what happened?”

  “Only that Jaradin was badly hurt,” she said as the two walked toward the large center table. The high lord sat at the head of the table, with Gaar, Alan, and Broderick seated around him. Carol joined them.

  “When I find out who did this, they will wish they had never stepped close to the vale,” Rafel said.

  “Until Jaradin regains consciousness, we won’t know the identity of the attacker,” Broderick said.

  “Can’t Derek and his bear track them?” Carol said.

  “Derek said that there was no sign of anyone else having been in the immediate area,” said Broderick.

  “Could Jaradin have hurt himself in a fall?” she asked.

  “No,” said Gaar. “Jaradin and another ranger, Fredrick Han, were on routine patrol near the Great Forest. When they didn’t return on schedule, Derek went in search of them. He found Fredrick dead and Jaradin clinging to life. Someone cut him up with a knife to send us a message.”

  The high lord pounded his fists on the table. “I look forward to returning it.”

  “Where’s Derek?” Carol asked.

  “He’s leading one of the five ranger patrols that I sent out to try to pick up the attacker’s trail,” Broderick said. “If anyone can find it, that ranger and his bear can.”

  “You should have let me go, too,” Alan said.

  “You’re a good fighter, but you’re not a ranger. It’s time to let them do their work. But when it’s time to battle, I won’t hold you back.”

  “Where’s Jaradin?” Carol asked.

  “In the infirmary,” said Gaar. “Jason an
d two acolytes are attending him.”

  Carol stood and walked outside. The soldiers had moved away from the doorway and returned to their duties. The shadows from the high valley walls had just begun to creep over the fort, and an unusually cool breeze brought goose bumps to her arms. The fiery pulsing of the elemental mark on her shoulder stood in sharp contrast to her cold skin.

  The infirmary consisted of a large room on the western side of the fort. She paused outside the entryway, took a deep breath to compose herself, and stepped inside.

  Jason stooped over Jaradin’s body, which lay on a long, narrow table. Two acolytes clad in white robes, now heavily bloodstained, assisted him. The old priest looked up as Carol entered.

  Her first sight of Jaradin pulled a gasp from her lips. His body was a mass of jagged wounds, knives having crisscrossed over him, not to kill but to torture. The ranger’s face was worst of all. Flaps of cheek hung open, and an eye had been gouged from its socket. Carol wanted to scream.

  “It’s not pretty, is it?” Jason said.

  “Will he live?” she asked.

  The priest bowed his head for a moment, then went back to work sewing up the wounds. “I have seen men die from lesser injuries, and I have seen men live through worse.”

  “Why would anyone do this?”

  “To scare us.” The priest paused as an acolyte leaned over to wipe his brow. “I have been afraid something was going to happen for some time now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Someone doesn’t want us here. I’ve felt it on the edge of my thoughts as I go through my daily prayers.”

  “So you’ve felt it, too!” Carol said. “I was hoping my dreams were just the result of the hardships of the journey and would pass with time.”

  Jason continued to stitch, but his voice carried a troubled undercurrent. “Tell me about these dreams.”

  “I wish I could. For several weeks now, I’ve awakened in a sweat from some dream that fades into mist. I almost came to talk to you about the dreams, but I didn’t. What was there to discuss? I can’t even remember what they were about.”

  She reached out to lay her hand on Jaradin’s head. The memory of how he had fought alongside her when a bear had attacked Derek filled her mind. Like his brother, he had always been so rugged and strong, the very definition of a ranger. Now, as Carol looked down at him as he clung to life, a sense of helplessness enfolded her. The sound of his ragged breathing pulled forth a vision of Hawthorne gasping out his last breaths in her arms. Carol shuddered.

  “May the gods help you save him,” she said, then turned and walked out of the room. Carol looked up to see her brother standing just outside the door.

  “You look a little pale,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “I needed air.”

  “I did, too, when I first saw Jaradin. Do you think it could have been someone from the nearby tribe?”

  “No. Even if they weren’t peaceful, I don’t think they could have taken Jaradin unaware. I don’t understand how that could happen.”

  Alan shook his head. He gripped the handle of his ax so tightly that muscles coiled all the way up his arm and into his shoulder. “If anyone can find who did this, Derek will. You should have seen his face as he left.”

  Alan placed a hand on her shoulder. Then he turned and strode off toward the blacksmith shop.

  Carol walked directly to the stables. A boy directed her to the stall that held Storm, and she made her way into the vale. She realized that she was late for her meeting with the three teachers, but she did not care. The way she felt, they were lucky she opted to keep the appointment. Mundane tasks would help to calm her mind.

  The remainder of the day, short though it was, passed slowly. Carol reviewed the progress of classes and later traveled up the valley, leaving Colindale, as the first village had been named, passing through Fernwood, and finally stopping at Longsford Watch. This last site had been named after a famous battle from the Vorg War. Carol thought the fight was an incredibly stupid thing after which to name a town, but Rafel, Gaar, and Alan loved the choice. Men needed to be reminded at every opportunity of past glories lest someone forget they were men.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance as she unsaddled Storm and began grooming the mare. Carol saw huge thunderheads piled high above the southern walls of the valley. The bottoms of the clouds were shadowy and threatening, standing out in stark contrast to the brilliant scarlet cloud tops. Lightning splintered downward and laced the entire skyline, followed several moments later by two louder booms. Carol could see sheets of rain spewing from the clouds so that the end of the valley disappeared behind a veil. When the first fat drop spattered her face, she ended her reverie and moved to get out of the coming storm.

  Carol left the stables and made her way toward her home, a simple two-room cabin on the southeastern edge of Longsford Watch. She had insisted on a cabin on the outskirts of town for reasons of privacy.

  The house was on a small knoll and had a large front window looking out over the valley to the north, provided the shutters were open. The front room also had a hearth and a set of bookshelves, as well as a table and chairs. The front door opened out onto the one true luxury that Carol had allowed her father to have built for her: a covered porch with a board floor and its own set of chairs.

  Her bedroom was small but comfortable, with a wood frame bed and shuttered window. The only inconvenience was the walk of about fifty paces down the hill to the nearest of the community outhouses. She considered this a small price to pay for the satisfaction she got from the cabin.

  Rain suddenly poured down from the sky, sending the lorness racing the last few paces to her porch. There she paused to shake the water from her hair and clothes. The sound of the rain on her porch roof was wonderful, as was the light show being put on by the lightning. The storm brought with it a deep darkness and the good smell of air washed clean by rain.

  She flopped down in one of the porch chairs and leaned back. With thunder rumbling all around, she lost herself in sleep.

  Carol awoke with a start. It was quiet. The storm had died. Despite the chill in the air, she was drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, as if she had just finished running. She looked around, trying to pierce the thick blanket of night with her eyes. She couldn’t see anything, but from the sound of the steady drip of water from the roof and the feel of her chair, she knew that she was still on her porch.

  She stood up and walked forward, going slowly, feeling her way along the boards with her feet. Her outstretched arm bumped into one of the porch supports, and she stopped to lean. An image flashed into her mind, and then it was gone. She had dreamed again, but this time it seemed different, more urgent, demanding to be let out of her subconscious mind, desperate, seeking. Carol struggled to recall the image, but she could not. Some force was blocking her, as if something did not want to let her subconscious do its work.

  She found her way back over to her chair and sat down. She inhaled deeply, then let her breath out slowly.

  In quiet desperation, she steadied her pulse and began the meditation. She was floating, pulled from her body by the wind. She willed herself upward, through the clouds. Something sped up after her, something she could not allow to catch her. Her will pulled her onward, faster, higher, until finally she arrived at a temple atop a snow-covered mountain. She rushed inside, slamming the huge doors behind her. As she closed the bolt, something smashed into the door from outside. Carol staggered backward. The door had to hold, at least long enough for her to accomplish her task.

  The battering on the doors intensified. Carol ignored the sound, turning her attention back to her dream. Her mind was clear and sharp, a state she had not experienced since the incident with the fire elemental. Suddenly a massive blow hit the doors, sending splinters flying inward.

  She reached out for the image left by the dream. It appeared, but at such a great distance that she could not make out details. Another terrible blow struck the door, sh
attering part of a panel. In desperation, she pulled the image to her.

  It was dark, not the total darkness of night, but rather the darkness of evening twilight. She was in the valley of the cliff dwellers, in the center of the amphitheater. All of the Kanjou had gathered, filling the seats for row upon row, even sitting along the cliff walls where they could gain purchase. They stared down at Carol. No. Not just at her. Others were there, too. She looked around. Dan stood close by, as did Kira, and Darl. Kira looked as if an unuttered scream was trapped upon her lips. The men were tense, drained of color. Still.

  She turned again. Katya lay on a stone slab, staring skyward. Her eyes were dazed. The black figures of several priests, like the one she had seen earlier, moved to surround the girl. One of them turned to face Carol.

  “This is what you have wrought with your meddling,” he said, pulling a curved dagger from his cloak.

  The priest turned back toward the girl, and a chant arose from the others, climbing in pitch as he gripped the dagger with both hands and slowly raised it above his head. Carol struggled to move but could not, caught in some force that held her in place. A low chuckle escaped the priest’s lips as the dagger descended.

  Carol screamed as the doorway to the temple shattered and the familiar terror returned. The mental image dissolved, and her consciousness plummeted back to her body. She jerked up from the chair.

  8

  Areana’s Vale

  YOR 414, Mid-Summer

  The sky in the east was just beginning to gray when Carol bounded off the porch and strode down the hill toward the stable, moving as rapidly as she could manage in the predawn light. Storm nickered an acknowledgment of her presence.

  Saddling the mare, she led Storm out of the stable and leapt astride. Turning Storm’s head, Carol urged her steed into a ground-covering lope. She reached the ravine just as the first rays of sun touched the mountain peaks. Passing through the series of upper fortifications, Carol pulled to a halt at the lower fortress’s raised drawbridge.