Shadows of Prophecy

by Rachel Lee

  “Send one of the others for him,” Archer said. “I would keep you close, Freesah.”

  The man was positively beaming as he stepped outside again.

  “A good man,” Archer remarked.

  “I love the Anari people,” Tess answered. “I feel I could learn so much from them.”

  “As could we all.”

  Together they began eating the stew. As she lifted the first mouthful to her lips, Tess didn’t think she could eat, but the instant it found her stomach with warmth, her appetite reappeared and she ate heartily. She and Archer dipped into the same pot, but it seemed he was eating only to encourage her to, for she ate most of what was there.

  By the time she was done, she felt strength flowing to every part of her body. She gave Archer a grateful smile and was relieved when he didn’t remind her that he had been right.

  The flap of the tent drew back, and two Anari entered with an unarmed Bozandari soldier. His uniform was tattered, and his skin showed the nicks and bruises of the battle he had survived, but he was whole.

  He bowed deeply to Archer, then fell to his knees before Tess.

  “My Lady, I beg you to hear me.”

  “I am listening.”

  “I am Rearmark Otteda of the Legionary Guard. Today I saw many of my comrades felled, including my foremark, Tantor. But today I also saw something else. I saw the healing of those who had fallen around me. I saw men I thought must die regain their feet whole and healthy. We are now prisoners, but we know we owe our lives to you.”

  “No thanks are necessary, Rearmark. We Ilduin healed as many as we possibly could on both sides. Nor was I the only one involved.”

  He bowed his head, accepting her word. But then he looked up at her again. “My Lady, we saw from whose hands the lightning flowed. We know where we must give our thanks. There are among us thirty who wish to swear fealty to you. There are among us thirty who wish to accompany you as your personal guard.”

  Tess drew a sharp breath. Archer stiffened.

  “But…” Tess hesitated. “But you might have to fight others of your comrades, Rearmark. Will that not trouble you?”

  “Aye, ’twill trouble me. But it has troubled me my whole life long that my duty has involved snatching slaves from among innocent people. I have followed my orders and swallowed my conscience. I will do so no more. I owe you my life, and my life I give you. The others feel the same. We will protect you with our last breaths, and we will fight beside you for Anari freedom.”

  Slowly Tess reached out and touched the man’s shoulder. She could feel no deception in him. Finally she said, “I accept your service, Rearmark, with gratitude. But I must meet the others individually, also.”

  Rearmark Otteda rose to his feet and bowed. “My thanks, my Lady. Will you have me bring them to you?”

  Tess looked at Archer.

  “I think,” said Archer, “that ’twere best if we go to them.” He nodded to the rearmark. “Let these soldiers take you back to your comrades. Gather together those who wish to serve Lady Tess. I will bring her to you shortly.”

  The rearmark bowed his way out of the tent as if he were in the presence of royalty. Tess looked at Archer. “Why do we not go immediately?”

  “Because I have a small gift for you.”

  Opening the tent flap once again, he said something. A minute later a huge tub of water was carried in, along with a length of towel and some soap. The next man carried Tess’s spare clothes, and from the scent, they had been washed that very day.

  Archer smiled at her as he waved the soldiers out. “I shall be at the door if you need anything, my Lady.” Then he, too, vanished, pausing only to tie the flap behind him.

  The unexpected caring, the unexpected luxury, brought the sting of tears to Tess’s eyes. That Archer had thought so of her comfort at the end of a day like this…

  She sat for a while, struggling with huge waves of emotion: gratitude, sorrow, relief and dread. But finally she rose and stripped and slipped into the steamy tub, where the heat almost immediately relaxed the tension from her body.

  Except for the time in Anahar, she had grown used to bathing in icy streams, sometimes settling for a hurried sponge bath. This was a comfort beyond description after the past harsh days. Some Bozandari officer had left her not only a tent and a cot, but a tub, as well. She hoped he had survived the battle.

  Images of another world began to float into her mind again. Damn, I thought I’d never be clean again, a voice said. I don’t think I’ll ever wash all the sand out of my skin. She felt herself standing under a stinging torrent of hot water, feeling it scrub away sand and blood, wishing it could scrub away the memories. Too many dead. But worse, too many wounded, cries of Corpsman! cutting through the din of battle. One shattered body after another, an endless stream of hands reaching for bandages, applying medicine, injecting morphine, working until her body and her soul were numb with the hopelessness of it all. Until finally, finally…a hot shower.

  She returned to the present wondering what “morphine” was, knowing it was a memory she ought to recognize as she let herself settle into the depths of the tub. Small mercies, she thought, when at last she toweled dry and dressed in her white leather riding pants and white wool overtunic. Her dirty clothes she left on the cot, assuming they might not be clean again for a long time. But for now she felt fresh and revived.

  She pulled up the hood of her cloak, for her blonde hair, growing steadily longer, was still damp, and the night was chilly. Then she stepped forth, and found Archer and Freesah awaiting her.

  “Thank you,” she said simply, knowing no amount of words could possibly suffice for the gift she had just been given.

  “My pleasure, my Lady,” Archer said, smiling. “Freesah has found someone who will wash your other garments tonight.”

  Freesah bowed, smiling proudly. “Where can your clothes be found, my Lady?”

  “On the cot.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and waved to two soldiers a few feet away. At once they entered the tent to collect the garments.

  “And now,” said Archer, “the three of us will go to see Rearmark Otteda and his fellows.” He paused, then smiled once again. “At times I feel hope that the world can really change.”

  28

  The world had changed during the course of the day. Tess was both astonished and relieved to see how few signs of the battle remained now. The Anari had gathered around campfires, quietly talking, some even managing to laugh. Fragrant sistren burned on every fire, filling the night with its pleasant scent, mingling with the aromas of food recently cooked. The remains of the Bozandari camp were being fully used for shelter and comfort.

  Only the Bozandari prisoners themselves stood separate and cold in a stockade that some of them had surely helped build. Anari stood guard all around them as they huddled together in the center of their prison for warmth.

  The walk to the stockade took several minutes.

  “The Bozandari are now held in pens they created to hold slaves,” Freesah remarked.

  Instinctively Tess reached out and gripped Freesah’s forearm. “I am sorry, Freesah.”

  He shook his head. “There is no further cause. We struck our first blow for freedom today. Soon no more of our kin will be carried away to such places.”

  “’Tis to be hoped.”

  Freesah smiled at her. “I am certain of it, my Lady.”

  When they reached the stockade, Archer was immediately unhappy with what he saw. He called to the guards, “Have these men been fed? Why are there not fires to warm them? They are not animals to be treated thus.”

  One of the guards, sullen-faced, answered, “They stole my brothers and my sisters. They were kept here without food or water or heat. Why should I treat their captors any better?”

  “Because,” Freesah answered before Archer could say a word, “we are not animals! See to it, Tenna. But build the fires outside the stockade.”

  The Anari were not soldiers by n
ature, but they were accustomed to discipline and good conduct. Tenna might have objected, but the other Anari moved swiftly to take care of their prisoners. After a few minutes, even Tenna grudgingly joined in.

  “Not all hearts are pure,” Archer murmured to Tess.

  “They are just people. When people have been hurt, they want to strike back. ’Tis normal.”

  He looked at her as if she had just said something remarkably brilliant. Finally she flushed. “Can we see the rearmark now?”

  “Rearmark Otteda,” Archer called. “Bring forth your chosen to speak with the lady.”

  At once a group detached itself from the huddle and formed up, marching toward Archer and Tess. They were at least thirty strong, with Otteda in their lead. Others of the prisoners drew back from them and spat at them, muttering words Tess could not quite hear. The marching group ignored their fellows, however.

  When they reached the gate where Archer and Tess stood, Otteda called them to a halt. Archer scanned the group, his eyes narrowed, then stood back from the gate. “Allow these men to step out of the pen,” he said.

  Several Anari, spears and swords at the ready, leaped to obey his command. Otteda marched his company out the gate and formed them in two ranks to face Tess and Archer.

  “My Lady,” he said, putting his hand to his heart. “These men wish to swear their fealty to you and enter into your service.”

  At once the two ranks knelt and bowed their heads. “We do,” they said as one.

  “I am so touched,” Tess said quietly to them. “But I must move among you and touch each of you before I can accept your oath.”

  “Lady…” Archer began.

  Sensing his concern that not all the men before her might be honest in their intentions, she smiled at him. “I am Ilduin,” she said gently.

  He nodded and stepped back a pace to allow her to move among the men, but his hand gripped his sword hilt, and she was sure he could have drawn it in the merest blink of an eye if the need arose.

  She began at one end of the front row of men, touching each one’s shoulder. Closing her eyes, she sensed the truth of each man’s oath, and only then did she say she accepted it. As she passed among them, a good feeling seemed to swell around the group, as if they were touched by something holier than the mere human heart. Each man seemed to regain his pride and purpose at her touch.

  Even the watching Anari guards seemed moved by the aura that filled the air.

  Until at last, near the end of the thirty, Tess found one she could not read. With her hand on his shoulder, she opened her eyes and looked into his, reading her death there.

  Before she could react, he pulled a small dagger from within his clothes and drove it toward her. In the distance she heard cries, saw the men on either side of him move to protect her, felt as if time slowed to a crawl, every split second etched clearly in her mind.

  As the dagger plunged toward her, she reached out swiftly with her hand and grabbed the blade, barely feeling the hammering pain as it gashed her palm. At once her hand began to bleed, and as her blood fell on the soldier’s skin, it burned him like molten fire.

  He screamed and dropped the dagger, falling backward as his former comrades wrestled him away from Tess.

  She did not move. Perhaps it was shock. But she stared at her sliced palm, watching her blood fall. As it hit the ground it sizzled for a moment; then, from its dampness, small purple flowers sprang out of the soil.

  The man she had burned was still screaming in pain as he was hauled away and hurled by his fellows back into the stockade.

  “Judgment is upon him,” Tess murmured.

  Archer reached her side. “My Lady! Your hand.”

  “Hush.” Her tone of voice surprised even herself. She held up her hand, and, right before their eyes, the wound closed. The scar, however, remained.

  Slowly she turned and looked at the men whose fealty she had accepted. They gazed at her with awe approaching fear. “I heal willingly,” she said, a quiet intensity almost crackling in the air. “I would heal the entire world if I could. But my blood burns those who are filled with shadow.”

  Then she turned and began to walk back to her tent. Behind her, twenty-nine Bozandari leapt to their feet and followed her in tight formation. It gave her no comfort.

  She had become a monster.

  Archer paused at the entrance to the tent, deciding whether to follow her. Ten from her guard formed a perimeter around the tent, two at each corner and two at the door, while the others set to work retrieving their belongings and establishing a separate living area for themselves. When he heard her sobbing, he could wait no longer. Nodding to the guards, he slipped through the opening of the tent and went to her.

  “Lady Tess,” he said, sitting beside her bed.

  “Would you please stop calling me that?” she replied, opening her eyes. “I’m just Tess. ‘Lady Tess’ is a woman you and the gods have created. ‘Lady Tess’ is a monster.”

  He shook his head. “Not a monster, Tess. An Ilduin, yes. And Ilduin blood judges. But you are no monster.”

  “Do you know why I am Ilduin?” she asked, anger rising in her voice.

  “It is in your bloodline,” Archer said. “Beyond that, there are mysteries the Ilduin never revealed, even to we of the Firstborn.”

  “Bloodline,” she said, almost spitting out the word. “Yes, that word fits. I became an Ilduin when I was bathed in my mother’s blood, just as Sara’s talents only fully emerged after she watched her mother die.”

  “No,” he said. “I saw her at the Eshkar. A blue-white light shimmered around her. It destroyed the hive attackers sent by Glassidor.”

  “And have you seen blue-white light flash around her since?” Tess asked. “No, you haven’t. That wasn’t her, Archer. It was me. The Eshkar…transmitted her prayer to me. I was on the back of a horse, headed to Lorense, thinking of a way to escape, when I heard her words. The stones at my throat burned, and I felt the power drain from me. I awoke in Glassidor’s cell.

  “No, Sara’s mother had to die for her Ilduin gifts to emerge. Just as my mother had to die. And, like Sara, I held my dying mother in my arms. Bloodline? Oh yes. There is too much blood on my line.”

  “You are remembering your past?”

  “Only damnably tiny fragments,” Tess said. “Or perhaps I am fortunate that they are so few. For that which I remember is not pleasant. I knew war before I came to your world, Archer. War and screaming and death. It seems that death has been my lifelong companion. And now, I cannot be touched. For if there be any evil in he who touches me, that evil will be met with judgment. And who among us has no evil?”

  “Your sisters touch you,” he said. Then, pausing, he reached out and took her hand in hers. “I touch you. I am far from perfect, Tess. There is blood on my hands, also. The blood of battle, more than you can imagine. And yet I fear not to touch you. For there is ordinary wrong, Tess, and then there are those who have given their hearts over to the Shadow that blights this world. It is on their choice that your blood passes judgment. And good that it does, else we would not know whom among us to trust.”

  “Choice?” she asked. “Do you believe any of us has a choice? My choices were made for me before I left my mother’s womb. She made a contract with Elanor, a contract to die that I might become…who I am. I did not choose to be in this world, your world. I was taken here, dropped into that caravan, naked and covered in the blood of those who were slain around me. Those who were doubtless slain because the Enemy sought to slay me. I was destined to be in this place, at this time, Archer. But destiny is not a choice. It is a sentence upon my soul.”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But…”

  “And if I am here as a pawn of destiny,” she said, cutting him off, “then who are we to say that Lantav Glassidor was no less a pawn? Or that man whose hand will bear my scar forever? The gods create and scheme amongst themselves, and we are but pieces to be shifted about in the sands of their games. Choices? I have n
one, Archer. Nor, I suspect, do you.”

  Her anger was painful to watch, and yet he understood its source. She spoke words that he himself had spoken more than once in his sojourns. The cruel hand of the gods lay upon him and always had. That was his birthright, his curse. He had learned to accept it and to make of it the best that he could. But only after long years—more years than the sands of the desert, it seemed—spent wandering. And most of that time he had spent alone, not for lack of those who would accompany him, but for the same reason that Tess herself now sought safety behind her wall of anger. To touch another meant daring to hurt another, to inflict upon them the cruel hands that had steered his life.

  Aye, he knew her anger. He had spent countless years nearly consumed by it. But she could not afford such a lonely pilgrimage as he had taken. Time and events would not permit it. At first light they would ride into the next phase of the war for Anari freedom. And doubtless then they would ride on the Enemy himself. The gods had not given her the time that he had been granted. And he would need to ask much of her in the days to come.

  “Tess,” he said, “if we step back far enough, none of us has any choices. We are born not of our own design but that of our parents. We live not because we want to, but because instinct rebels at death. And in the end, the fortunate among us die, no matter how hard we seek to avoid it. Those of us who do not die suffer a worse fate, to wander increasingly alone among those who cannot share our days. All the rest merely fills in the time between birth and death.

  “And yet,” he continued, squeezing her hand gently, “it is that filler that gives our lives meaning. If prophecies have placed you here, among us, in this place, in this time, the gods have left to you the choice of how to give those prophecies life. If you fear yourself, you can be but a shadow of that prophecy. But if you accept who you are, you can be its beacon. And we will all have need of that beacon in the days to come.”

  “Was it hard?” she asked, as if peering into his soul. “To come to terms with those who set you upon this path?”