“Perhaps it hasn’t been the right time.” He dipped his head to measure her over his glasses. “How are we to know that the quatrains—or ‘poems’ as you call them—aren’t waiting for one in particular to make sense of the rhymes?” He lifted thin shoulders in an eloquent shrug. “It’s not for me to say.”
Jaaniyah scooted her chair closer to the old man. “Why do you think they’re prophecies?”
Becknah steepled his fingers. “Because some have come true.”
Jaaniyah’s eyebrows lowered in a frown. “Such as…?”
Becknah began to recite:
“Beware a battle provoked by rage
Unprotected by the golden cage
A single blow through the eye
The serpent and bear both shall die.
This prophecy tells of the deaths of Montemier, known as the wild bear because of his temper, and his nephew, Pontfial, who was called the viper for the method in which he used his sword.”
“Montemier?” Jaaniyah said. “I remember him—he was in our history books. He was the ruler of Singaty a hundred years ago. That prophecy is about him?”
“Yes, Montemier’s nephew was involved in a dalliance with the ruler’s young wife. Montemier was so angry when he found them out that rather than follow the typical protocol of a joust, where he would wear protective gear—including his famous gilded helmet—he attacked on the spot. The young Pontfial defended himself and stabbed Montemier through the eye, killing him instantly. The ruler’s ministers were so outraged they hung Pontfial without a trial.” Becknah held his hands up. “And thus, the serpent and the bear both died. The pages were written over five hundred years before the event.”
Jaaniyah sat forward, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Are there others?”
“Yes, many. One predicted the great fire in Carpis which occurred one hundred and fifty years after Getheas’ death. Another predicted the assassination attempt of the Cardinal of Asini, just a decade ago. Of course, those are the few we’ve been able to decipher. There are books and books of quatrains that remain a mystery.”
Jaaniyah leaned back in her chair, a doubtful look on her face. “And what exactly does the Stone offer that Mosaba would want so desperately?”
“Ah.” Becknah threaded his fingers together. “The Stone is said to be a key. The lost manuscript, if you will—the missing puzzle piece that will let us decipher Getheas’ prophecies and reveal the secret meanings of his predictions.” His eyes gleamed. “The Stone will give us the ability to see the future.”
The princess frowned. “How’s that, exactly?”
“The prophecies are like a giant puzzle—pieces of information that tell us what is to come—great secrets that will lead us to a new world order.” Becknah focused his gaze on Jaaniyah. “Mosaba desires to rule both Jarisa and Sartis. Being able to see the future is a most powerful ally.” He stroked his beard. “Perhaps an undefeatable ally.”
“But we don’t have the Stone.” Jaaniyah gripped the arms of her chair in frustration. “How is it we would battle Mosaba when we have nothing?”
The old man looked away to the ceiling, lost in thought. “Our opportunity would lie in making Mosaba believe we have the Stone. We would need to deceive him into thinking we have something he wants enough to keep your father alive.”
Jaaniyah narrowed her eyes. “What are you suggesting?” A flicker of hope shot through her. “That we pretend to have the Getheas Stone?”
“An idea to consider,” Becknah said. “It’s well documented that all of the texts attributed to Getheas are stored here in Jarisa. If anyone would know, it would be us. But first, we must take a defensive position at our borders.” Becknah pushed himself up straighter in the chair. “Has Heathron contacted you yet about the details of the attack? Has he identified where our security failed the King?”
Jaaniyah nodded, her enthusiasm fading. “He said the attack was an ambush. That Mosaba’s men knew which trail our brigade was traveling.” Her voice tightened with anger. “They were lying in wait. Heathron said our men were surprised and outnumbered.” She tried to shrug off a shiver as she remembered her Minister of War’s description of the bloody attack and his suggestion that someone from inside their own ranks had sold them out.
“As I feared,” Becknah said with a grim expression. “There is a spy in our midst. Perhaps more than one.” He gazed into the flickering flames for a moment. “I must consult the Xanfere cards as well as the stars to see what guidance they might provide.”
He shook his head. “There’s no time to lose if we are to set these wheels in motion. Word must be leaked that you have knowledge of the stone’s location. Spread a rumour that your father’s capture has forced you to recover the long-lost Getheas Stone so you may use its power to battle Sartis and win.” Becknah smiled with satisfaction. “That should give Mosaba something to think about.”
Jaaniyah hesitated. “But how do I do that?”
The scholar stood, his crimson robes cascading to the floor. “Whose loyalties do you question most within your father’s court of advisors?”
“Tarantu,” Jaaniyah said without hesitation. Her father had warned her of his suspicions about his finance minister. She fell into step with the older man as he clasped his hands behind his back and walked toward the door.
“Then we must allow him to overhear a conversation that suggests you are in pursuit of a power beyond the imagination.” He paused and his silver brows furrowed. “You do know that this course of action will put you at considerable risk. You were potentially a target before this. But by tying your name to this quest, Mosaba and his minions will come directly for you.”
“Dear Becknah.” Jaaniyah put a hand on his arm. “You have cared well for my family all these years. I am at risk by any measure and I’ll gladly attempt this if there is a chance to save my father.” Her voice wavered. “He’s all the family I have left.”
Becknah patted the slim hand resting on his arm. “Your father is a strong and fierce warrior. I pray that he shall live to claim the day.”
ool air permeated the vast hallways of Ravensfell as winter crept closer with each day. Nica shivered as she peeked out through a narrow window in the corridor on the way to her father’s office. Fog swirled beneath the trees and stretched long ethereal fingers through the fields, watery sunlight glinting off the mist. How she wished she could disappear into the opaque clouds.
She clenched and unclenched her fingers as she hurried up the last flight of steps, her slippers silent against the stone. She rounded the corner and tiptoed through the antechamber to her father’s office.
“Sir, you wanted to see me?” Nica concentrated on keeping her words crisp. She couldn’t show any hint of fear even though her heart thudded against her ribs. Her father enjoyed that too much.
The dark, over-sized furniture in Mosaba’s office made her uncomfortable and she tried not to look at the razor-sharp swords suspended in rows by their ornate hilts on a large wooden stand. The antique swords, as well as the barbaric tools of old displayed on the walls, fascinated her father.
She slid cautiously onto the edge of a high-backed chair in front of Mosaba’s desk and waited as he meticulously cleaned and oiled the braids of an ancient, nine-headed whip. The arms of the chair wrapped around the seat like wings and the back had two glaring eyes carved into each side. It was like sitting on the lap of a Harpy hawk, those giant predatory birds that lived above the Cliffs of Seniesta.
Nica perched on the edge of the seat, primed to flee, for Mosaba’s mood often turned violent. He raised his dark head and contemplated her, his black eyes guarded by heavy brows. She could tell he was irritated.
“I have heard a report.” His voice was controlled. Too controlled. “That you were seen outside the gates, Madanica.”
His fist crashed down on the desk.
Nica jumped.
“Is that true?” Now his voice was mild, coated in deceit.
“N…no sir, I wouldn’t
dare go outside the gates.” She dug her fingernails into the palm of her hands. “W…where would I go?”
“Exactly. You will not go outside the gates. I will have to punish you if I find that you do.” He gave her a cold smile. “For your own good, of course.”
“Of course,” she whispered. Mosaba liked to punish her. Who would have told him such a thing? Was it Shanks? But Shanks had never seen her outside the gates.
With measured movements Mosaba picked up a long, thin punk. He tamped its wooden tip in a nearby candle until it glowed orange.
“Let me see your arm.”
Nica’s grip on her seat tightened. “Why?”
“NOW!” Mosaba roared.
Nica cracked her elbow on the wood as she thrust her right arm out toward her father. She couldn’t stop her hand from shaking.
Mosaba’s thick fingers wrapped around Nica’s thin wrist and turned her arm over to expose the delicate skin. With exacting precision he moved the burning ember toward her arm and placed it squarely in the fold of her elbow.
Nica sucked in her breath and clenched her teeth against the pain, but remained silent. She saw the malicious light in her father’s eyes before she dropped her gaze and concentrated on her toes curling against the leather of her boots.
“You will not go outside the gates,” Mosaba repeated. “Understood?”
“Yes sir,” Nica whispered, as her father moved the punk back to the candle. She folded her arms tight against her waist.
“I suggest you return to your lessons before I change my mind about your punishment.” Her father glared at her for a moment longer then stood up and strode through an open doorway at the back of his office.
Nica resisted the urge to pick something heavy off her father’s desk and throw it at his empty chair. She had tried to please him for the longest time. But her efforts were to no avail. He was always angry with her about something.
“I hate this place,” she whispered under her breath. “I hate him.” Mosaba liked to frighten her—to inflict pain. She unfolded her arm to look at the burn. The raw flesh stung and a blister was forming. His temper was getting worse and she often felt his dark, brooding eyes upon her. Each day she grew more fearful of what he would do next.
She had grown up sequestered, at her father’s insistence, within the grounds of their walled castle.
“It’s for your own safety,” Mosaba had repeated over the years. His bloody rise as self-proclaimed ruler of Sartis had given him many enemies. Nica knew Mosaba feared they would somehow use her to get revenge.
It wasn’t until the last year that she’d gathered the nerve to venture beyond her prison walls. Toppen had given her the confidence to try. She’d met him during one of his frequent deliveries of wine to the castle and they’d struck up a friendship. With his encouragement she’d found a way to sneak into town.
Sick and dizzy with fear, she pushed herself up out of the chair. Her father’s warning had scared her. She wouldn’t allow herself to think of the punishment if Mosaba caught her outside the gates, because she needed to talk to Toppen now. To tell him the news.
NICA HURRIED DOWN the back stairs to the ground floor of the castle. She was dressed in the familiar clothes of a castle valote—dark trousers and a long white tunic with a wide sash of maroon tied loosely at her waist. She had tucked her braids inside the customary black cap. The common outfit helped her blend in with the servants as well as the crowds in town.
She popped a small piece of wax, molded while still warm to a smooth curve, inside her upper lip. The wax made her lip protrude and caused her to purse her mouth while she talked. She didn’t dare take a chance on being recognized. A pair of black framed glasses completed the disguise. The few people who knew of her wouldn’t recognize her dressed like this.
Nica kept her head down as she made her way along the corridor. Last year, she’d overheard Hosh, a young assistant to her father’s magistrate, bragging about a secret gate in the outer curtain wall. It had taken her a week of looking to find the little used, overgrown exit on the far side of the orchard. It was from there that she escaped from the castle grounds unseen.
With a furtive glance around the empty hall Nica slipped out through a side entrance that led toward the stables. The wind was beginning to pick up as she skirted the outbuildings and ran through a small stand of withered fruit trees. It wouldn’t be long before winter set her icy grip upon Sartis.
Toward the back of the copse stood an arbor overgrown with grapes, the leaves bright orange from the first frost of fall. Nica cast one last glance over her shoulder then disappeared under the archway. She ran, her footsteps muffled on the soft dirt, fighting the feeling of being chased.
She reached the end of the arbor and swept aside an armful of thick hanging vines to reveal a plank door. The weathered wood slats were reinforced with iron ribs top and bottom and the metal squeaked in protest as she lifted the rusted lever of the handle. She tugged the door open just enough to slip her slender body through the space. An old trail led through the dry underbrush and it was only minutes before she emerged onto the road that led into town.
Freedom!
How she loved the anonymity of being able to walk about the streets and enjoy the cacophony of activity without being watched. A street vendor played his panpipe while children laughed and danced before him. Another sold potatoes— ‘So tasty you’ll be beggin’ for more!’ They had potatoes at every meal. How anyone could want more was a mystery to Nica.
Far in the distance, a clock tower tolled the time from LaBricé, the court city in the neighboring country of Jarisa. The town shimmered like a mirage directly across the Great Divide from Berjerac. Like an echo, the clock tower of Berjerac began to toll in the crisp morning air.
“Let me read your future with the mystical Xanfere cards.”
The compelling call of a man’s voice sliced through the morning air and grabbed Nica’s attention. As though pulled by an unseen string she stepped toward the crowd gathering. The magician’s black and red silk cape billowed behind him and the black hat perched on his head made him appear taller than normal. His nose was hooked, a cliff between eyes as black as midnight, matching the straight black hair that hung to his shoulders. His striking appearance added to the power of his theatrical voice.
“Come close and learn what the Fates have in store for your future.” His hands produced a deck of Xanfere cards as though from thin air. In one seamless move, he spread the cards face up across the black velvet-covered stand in front of him.
Nica stepped forward, the brilliant colors and vivid images on the cards drawing her toward them against her will.
With a sweep of his left arm, the magician scooped the deck back together and shuffled with blinding speed. The gilded edges of the cards sparkled in the sunlight, making them look as though they were suspended in air. Nica took another step closer.
Without warning, the slender man snapped his cape, stepping from behind his stand and into the crowd. People fell back as though fearful of his touch. He bowed in front of Nica.
“If you would be so kind as to cut the cards.” In one smooth movement he raised his hand, the stack of cards balanced on his palm. His gaze probed her face as he waited. The crowd turned toward her, curiosity written on every face, and her heart plunged into her stomach. This was too much attention. Would she be recognized? How could she get away?
“Well…I…”
The magician indicated the deck of cards with a nod of his head and gave her a small smile as his cape fluttered behind him like a bird revving up to take flight. “Just pick a portion of the deck and place it in my other hand,” he said in a low tone. “The power of the Xanfere will do the rest.”
With shaking fingers, Nica reached forward and cut the deck. She placed half the cards in his other hand as she debated whether staying or running would attract more attention. With a flourish, the magician returned to his spot behind the stand.
“And now let us see what the
Fates have in store for you.” His voice rang out like a bell in the afternoon air.
Curiosity made Nica stepped closer as the crowd made way for her. In quick, efficient movements, the magician laid out six cards face up in a cross pattern, placing a seventh card face down by itself.
The pictures on the cards were a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes that teased Nica’s eyes. Wands and swords slashed across their well-worn surfaces. Stars and keys danced among lightning bolts and flames. Nica’s eyes skipped from the cards to the man’s face, looking for any tell-tale indication of their meaning. Her breath caught when his eyebrows pulled down and his forehead wrinkled in concentration. His gaze jerked to her face with an unmistakable look of shock.
“You are surrounded by danger.” The magician pointed to the first card. “Tread carefully for I see the Fates have a test in store for you.”
Nica’s legs were frozen in place.
“You are leaving on a long journey… I see betrayal…..there will be death…” He lifted his eyes to hers. “The looking glass will reveal the truth…”
Nica turned and ran, shoving her way through the crowd around her.
“Wait! There’s more…”
The magician’s voice compelled her to look back. He lifted his hand as if to stop her escape. With her head turned Nica didn’t see the young man’s back before she charged into him. The sound of shattering glass filled the air.
ica gasped as red wine, the color of the prized quiizenberry, splattered across the cobblestones. The pungent aroma filled the air and she looked up to see Toppen’s wide green eyes staring back at her. His red hair capped a face accented with a prominent nose and splattered with freckles. Relief washed over her.
“Oh Top…”.
“What is wrong with you?” he barked. “Are Lucede’s hounds chasing you?” His nose curled in disgust. “You’ve broken two very valuable bottles of wine.”
“S…sorry.” Nica took a step back, prepared to run again. Though she knew Toppen was acting, his anger scared her. She had lived with Mosaba’s rages for too long to be unaffected. “I didn’t see you.”
The Midnight Spy Page 3
