Shadows of Prophecy

by Rachel Lee

  They studied the Bozandari dispositions in silence, each weighing the same strengths and weaknesses. Archer knew the import of this decision and found himself wishing there were some other wisdom upon which he could lean. Giri and Jenah would accede to his decision, and on that decision would rest the fate of their people. A people created for peace, now bound for war.

  “Here,” he said, pointing again to the map, “in the Terami Hills. It is neither the largest nor the smallest of their forces. It lies between the others, yes, but to converge upon us they must follow these two passes, here and here. And they must meet in this valley, less than a day’s march from our first target. They will need two days to reach it. If we can subdue the first camp quickly, we can turn and be ready as they emerge from the passes.”

  “We cannot strike first at the coast,” Jenah agreed. “The hills are our home, and their ships can bring support too quickly. And to strike in the mountains would leave us too long and difficult a march to meet their response.”

  “Yes,” Giri said, nodding, tracing lines through the symbols. “And they have many routes along which they could fall upon us as we come down from the mountains. Lord Archer has chosen wisely. Our victory lies in the Terami Hills. So it will be.”

  “So it will be,” Jenah echoed.

  “So it will be,” Archer agreed, the weight of each word a boulder upon his back.

  Time. They were at war with time.

  The purification did not take as long as Ratha had expected. Digging his cousin’s grave in rocky soil had in itself proved a lesson. Now that he had filled it in and covered it with boulders to protect it from scavengers, he was able to sit wearily on a rock and contemplate the amazing truth of mortality.

  It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen others die, for he had. It wasn’t that he hadn’t killed others, for most certainly he had killed many.

  What struck him now was the very fragility of life. Men had been endowed with the ability to snatch it away with a single blow but not to restore it once taken.

  His people had always been peaceful, treasuring life in themselves and others, but now, in the reflection of his cousin’s death, Ratha saw how far he had diverged from the path of the Anari.

  It was then, in his sorrow for what he had done and how far he had strayed, that he realized how the darkness had overtaken him. He saw clearly what had concerned Cilla.

  A true Anari would have taken Nagari before the judges. A true Anari would not have reacted as he had. A true Anari would have stayed his murderous hand.

  Sitting in the twilight, staring at his hands, filthy now with the soil he had dug, filthy now with the murder of his own cousin, Ratha felt shame so deep he thought it would rend him.

  But that shame was his salvation, for it wrenched him from the darkness that had been clouding his mind since he had realized he was going to avenge Nagari’s betrayal.

  He wept for hours, the painful, spasmodic weeping of a man who had not allowed himself to shed a tear since childhood. With each tear the shame drove deeper into his soul, pushing out the darkness that had nearly become part of him. With each tear he called to mind the face of someone he had slain.

  Only in the wee hours, when the constellation called the Boat of Vellux rode high in the sky, did his tears cease. And with their passing came a cleansed heart and a new determination.

  Rising, he picked up the few items he had brought with him and began the ride back to Anahar.

  War lay ahead of him, he knew. But he also knew that he would fight it for the right reasons. No longer would he swing his sword for personal vengeance. Now he would swing it only in the defense of his people.

  It was a small difference, for the horrors would be the same, but it was all the difference in the world.

  Tom, under Erkiah’s tutelage, had discovered inner spaces that he had always hitherto ignored. In his life as Tom Downey, gatekeeper’s son, he had always been too busy assisting his father or hunting or doing the many other things the lads his age did.

  He had never taken the time, nor made the effort, to look inside himself. His life had not encouraged such thinking.

  But now he looked and discovered unbounded spaces, larger than his life had ever been or might ever be. Images and sounds flitted across his awareness there, often disconnected and meaningless, but somehow as real as the reality he called his life.

  It was a little like dreaming, yet at the same time not like dreaming at all. It had the same fractured feeling to it, as if he had gathered images that didn’t fit together in terms of what he thought of as reality, yet he could not doubt they were real. And the music he heard in snatches…he was certain he had never heard anything of the sort in his life.

  Little by little he grew comfortable in that space, and as he did, the visions gradually became more coherent.

  So he sat for hours, smiling, taking joy from the existence of a whole new world.

  Tess, Cilla and Sara had spent the last two days within the temple walls, wandering through winding corridors, touching images on the walls, seeking the knowledge that seemed to fill them with each new step. It was odd, however, that none of them seemed fully aware of what exactly was changing within them.

  Finally, on the third day, they gathered in a small chamber where the carved reliefs on the walls seemed to hum with life. Settling cross-legged on the floor, they held hands for a while, eyes closed, listening to the hum and trying to feel within themselves what they had learned.

  Finally Tess opened her eyes and spoke. “It seems the learning is not yet ready to be birthed.”

  The other two looked at her and nodded.

  “I don’t know whether to be upset,” Tess continued, her voice a mere whisper that seemed to join the ceaseless hum and become part of it. “Have we learned enough to help the Anari army? I don’t know. Perhaps it is not yet the time.”

  Cilla sighed. “Or perhaps we are wise enough to know the dangers in what we learn. You have heard of Dederand?”

  Tess and Sara nodded.

  “I have seen it,” Cilla said. “An immense plain of black glass, rippled as if it were once liquid. There nothing grows. To cross it is to risk one’s life and limb. If the Ilduin could do such, then we need ever be on guard against ourselves.”

  “I agree,” Tess said. “I agree. But…we will be opposed by some of our sisters.” So saying, she took the pouch from around her neck and scattered the twelve colored stones on the floor.

  At once the humming in the room intensified, as if in response. They exchanged glances, then looked at the stones.

  “Here,” said Tess, “is Sara’s stone.” She passed the blue one to Sara. Its depths were clear and glistening. “And yours, Cilla.” She passed the yellow stone. It too glistened as if lit from within, seeming to cast a light of its own, as did Sara’s.

  The white stone glistened as brightly, and Sara pushed it to Tess. “Yours, my Lady,” she said softly. “For you are she who was reborn.”

  Tess found herself reluctant to touch the stone. “I must tell you,” she said to her friends, “that I am not at all comfortable with that idea.”

  Sara surprised them all by laughing. “Who is ever comfortable with the machinations of the gods? For whatever reason, my Lady Tess, you are chosen, and chosen for something special.”

  Tess suddenly looked wry. “I would prefer not to have an exciting future.”

  The other two laughed, and their laughter seemed to lighten the humming around them.

  “But these others,” Sara said, returning everyone’s attention to the stones. “We must…learn something about them before we go to war.”

  “Aye,” Tess agreed.

  Cilla reached out a dark hand. “See this?” she said pointing to a purple stone. “It is opaque. Clouded. I would not trust it.”

  “Aye,” Tess agreed again. “But to whom is it beholden? My sisters, we must remember that there are two forces afoot in this world that work for evil. We cannot look at these clouded stones and
say which work for Bozandar and which work for the Enemy through his hive masters.”

  “They all work for the Enemy,” Cilla said grimly. “I will not speak his name.” She made a warding sign with her hand. “To me it seems Bozandar has always been his minion. At least since they decided upon conquest and slavery. Before that, for a long, long time, this world lived in relative peace. Then the Bozandari decided they wanted to rule the world and have their work performed by slaves. And we, bred for peace, gave them little enough resistance.”

  She held her stone up, watching it glow golden. “I shall watch this always, to be sure I am not falling from the path into his grasp. We must all do likewise.”

  Sara and Tess nodded. “But what of these other stones?” Tess asked. “Not all are clouded. There are a few more than we to stand against darkness.”

  “Only if we find them,” Sara argued. “Mayhap we should attempt to call them to us.”

  Tess immediately shook her head. “Pardon, Sara, but I do not think it would be wise at this time to use our powers so obviously. I caused enough trouble during the battle in the mountains.”

  Sara nodded reluctantly. “Then let us hope they find us. In the meantime, perhaps we can learn a way to track those whose stones are clouded? To listen in to their intent?”

  Again Tess shook her head, and this time Cilla made the same gesture.

  Cilla spoke. “The time has not yet come for us to unleash ourselves. When it does, we will know.”

  Tess smiled mirthlessly. “If we know how. I hope that our powers are concealed from us only until we need them.”

  In silence, they stared for a while at the stones. The humming around them gradually eased into a quiet song, as if to say they had taken what lessons they could from this room.

  All would have felt better had they known what the lessons were.

  23

  The Anari army was set to march. As far as anyone could tell, the Bozandari had no idea that an organized, military revolt was occurring. Scouts reported that nothing had changed, that the border legion maintained its three camps and no other legions had marched to join them.

  It seemed too good to be true.

  Their last night in Anahar, the traveling companions gathered in their front room with Jenah and Erkiah, discussing the next day’s march. Archer fretted over the timing.

  “We must move swiftly,” he said for the third time. “Swiftly. Jenah, Giri, you must make certain that everyone understands. Each hour we spend in movement brings us closer to discovery, and I would have us meet the Bozandari on ground of our choosing. It will give us an incalculable advantage.”

  Both Giri and Jenah nodded.

  “And where the devil is Ratha?”

  Giri looked down. “He will return soon, Lord Archer. He is still in the mountains where the judge sent him to purify himself.”

  “There is no purity in war.”

  “Mayhap not,” Giri agreed, raising his head and meeting Archer’s gray eyes directly. “Certainly I have seen enough of the ugliness of man slaying man. But there was in Ratha a shadow that might have turned against him and us. The judge charged him not to return until he has purged it.”

  Archer sighed and looked down at his hands, his fingertips resting on the edge of the table on which the carefully drawn map was spread out. Finally he said, “Far be it from me to argue with that. The gods know the shadow has consumed me at times. But without Ratha, I feel I have only half my right hand.”

  Giri smiled faintly at the sideways compliment. “I am sure the missing half of your hand will return soon. If not, Jenah and I will make up for the loss.”

  Archer raised his head, looking from Giri to Jenah. “I meant no disrespect, Jenah.”

  Jenah waved away the apology. “I understand, my Lord. I am new to these matters. I am sure Ratha will be a far abler lieutenant than I.”

  “Not so,” said Giri. “Lord Archer will soon have three right hands.”

  Archer smiled, allowing himself to relax a shade. In the corner, the three Ilduin were listening intently, along with Erkiah and Tom. “Cilla, if it please you, accompany Giri on the morrow.”

  “I will gladly do so,” Cilla answered.

  “Sara, will you go with Jenah?”

  “Of course.”

  “And Tess, you must stay with me.”

  Tess nodded.

  Tom rose. “I go also.”

  Sara immediately objected. “Tom, no. You must stay here….”

  He turned to her, his eyes hidden behind his mask. “I cannot be coddled like a baby or I will be useless to all.” Then he faced Archer again. “I will travel with you, Lord Archer. Thus, if I see anything…”

  Archer nodded. “My thanks, Tom. Your vision has helped us many times.”

  Archer pointed to the map again. “It is three days’ march to the pass. The following morn we attack.”

  At that moment Tom astonished them all by reaching out and gripping Archer’s arm. His voice took on a distant tone, as if coming from far away.

  “Regardless when you arrive,” he said, “do not attack until the snow wolf bows once again to Lady Tess.”

  Archer’s eyes narrowed. “The snow wolves are far up north.”

  Tom’s only answer was to repeat himself. “Do not attack until the snow wolf bows once again to Lady Tess. That will be your sign.”

  Erkiah spoke from his chair close to the fire’s warmth. “Ill befalls him who would ignore a prophet.”

  “Then so be it.” Archer shook his head and straightened. “It is a time of omens and warnings that we have entered. The gods play with us once again.” He lifted his gaze and looked at each person in the room with him. “I beg you, do not be misled. There will be great temptations in the days ahead. Listen to that which is good in your hearts and do only what is necessary to achieve the freedom of the Anari people.”

  “Aye,” said Tom. “The time will come when we will meet the true darkness. For now, we will meet only its minions. In their own way, they are as much enslaved as the Anari they have captured.”

  The truth seemed to hang on the air among them, and when they all finally departed for their beds, it was with a heavy sense of dread.

  The morning dawned dry and clear, the wind snapping the pennants of each Tel as it marched out. For hours, it seemed, a dark river of armed men and women poured forth from the valley into the hidden passes that would lead them to their destination. Atop the brow of a ridge, Tess sat astride her horse beside Archer, watching as the army gradually attained movement to its farthest end.

  Then Archer said, “Come, my Lady,” and they moved forward alongside the marching troops, faster than the men and women could walk, seeking the head of the seemingly endless column.

  The usually cheerful Anari were silent this morning. No song broke out among the ranks; no conversation broke the monotony. In every face was an awareness of what they had set out to do, and among them, none were proud of it.

  Their feet, too, were nearly silent. An army this size should have made a thunderous noise merely from the tramp of feet, but the Anari were surprisingly light of foot, almost silent as they ascended into the mountains.

  Looking over them, Tess believed that only the very young and the very old had remained behind, that every able-bodied Anari had gathered for this task.

  But of course. Anahar had sung. Anahar had called her own, this time to battle.

  “Tell me,” she said, “of the creation of the Anari. How was it done? And why?”

  For long moments he remained silent, his jaw as firm as granite. Finally, in a tone that revealed little, he said, “They were created through the magic of the Ilduin and the arrogance of the Firstborn. We may have been blind in many ways, but we were not blind to our own failings. We sought to create a better race than we, a race that would not fall prey to pettiness and rivalries. A race that would not war.”

  “Until now, the Anari have not had a war,” she reminded him.

  He shrugge
d. “As you can see, that is not necessarily a good thing, my Lady Tess. They could not even defend themselves against conquest and slavery.”

  “They are now.”

  “Aye. They have been changed. They are no longer what we wrought. But that is the way of all life. It changes. The gods diminished the Firstborn survivors for their sins, and once their life spans were shortened, they became something…Well, look at what the Bozandari have done. Look at the mages with their ugly hives. That is what the Firstborn came to when they were diminished.”

  “And you?” Tess asked, looking directly at him. “Why were you not diminished?”

  His hands tightened momentarily on his reins, and his lips drew thin. “Perhaps I have been. I certainly know that I am cursed.”

  He spurred ahead before Tess could press him further, but the questions still roiled in her mind. She had gathered by this time that Archer, as son of the Firstborn King, brother to Ardred the Evil One, was still immortal, as his original race had been. But why would he be exempted from the diminishment? To face his brother yet again?

  Perhaps.

  Reaching inward, she sought for the voices that had begun to come to her in the temple at Anahar, the voices that both informed and promised to guide. But this time all she heard was, Patience, little sister. You will understand in due time.

  The mountains sang that night. All around the many Anari encampments, spread throughout passes and over slopes, many bodies that soon would make up a crushing whole, the mountains sang. They were cheerless camps, without fire, with only dried meat and tough biscuits for food, remaining as silent as the dead so that no scout would detect them.

  And then the mountains began to sing. The song was for Anari ears only, though the Ilduin could hear some of it, too. It surrounded those it loved, the stoneworkers and masons who had given new beauty to the stone they carried away. It sang as a mother would sing to a child, as a father would offer reassurance after a nightmare. It told them that all was well and they would be watched over by magicks as old as the world itself. Older than the Firstborn, as old as the gods.