by R. T. Kaelin
“I will hold you to that.”
“I would be surprised if you did not,” whispered Kenders.
Sabine held her gaze a moment longer before looking across the room, back to Helene. In a small and quiet voice, she said, “She started to tell me what her dreams are about.”
Kenders cocked an eyebrow.
“I thought she never told you.”
Sabine shook her head.
“She never has. I even stopped asking.”
After waiting a moment for Sabine to continue, Kenders prompted gently, “So?”
“It’s the same dream,” whispered Sabine. “Every time, she says. She’s with me—just the two of us—hiding in a dark room, crouched behind some tables. She hears screaming and thunder outside. Then, suddenly, we aren’t alone anymore. Someone steps from the shadows, and…” Her eyebrows drew together as she shot a worried glance at Kenders. “And it kills me with ‘a ball of fire,’ according to Helene.”
A shiver ran up Kenders’ spine as Sabine looked back to Helene. After a moment, she sighed and continued softly.
“Then, there’s fire everywhere, and the person takes Helene and ‘runs into the black.’ Those are her exact words. ‘Runs into the black.’”
“It’s the same dream?” asked Kenders. “Every time?”
Sabine nodded, saying, “For a while now, yes. Ever since Shorn Rise.”
“What were they before that?”
Sabine shrugged and whispered with a touch of exasperation, “I don’t know, Kenders. She still won’t tell me those.” She frowned. “I’m hoping she doesn’t remember them.”
Patting Sabine’s hand, Kenders said soothingly, “Hey, Sabine, it’s fine.”
Sabine pulled her hand back, shook her head firmly, and said, “Fine?” She was agitated, yet managed to keep her voice low. “How is this ‘fine?’ Every night, my sister has a dream—or four—where I die!”
Kenders did not know what to say or do. She sat still, trying to understand what Sabine must be going through, what both sisters must be going through. Knowing her friend, Sabine’s worry had nothing to do with her own fate. She was concerned for Helene’s well-being, her state of mind. Kenders tried to imagine living her life where every night, she had to watch her brothers die. She did not linger on the thought long. It was too upsetting.
“The person in the dream,” whispered Kenders. “The one who…” She trailed off, not wanting to give voice to the act. “Who is it she sees?”
Sabine shook her head.
“All she’s told me is ‘long, white hair.’ Other than that, she refuses to talk. And I don’t press her.”
“I don’t understand,” murmured Kenders. “Why, after never wanting to talk about the dreams, why is she talking now?”
Sabine sighed and said, “Now, that I can answer.” She paused and turned to stare at Kenders. “The night we arrived here, Helene was hungry and Broedi pointed me in the direction of the commons. The moment we stepped into the room, Helene grabs my leg and begs me to pick her up.” Sabine’s eyes were wide. “She was terrified, Kenders, shaking in my arms. It took me quite a while to calm her down enough to where she would tell me why.”
Afraid she knew the answer already, Kenders nonetheless muttered, “Why?”
Leaning closer, Sabine whispered, “Sitting in my lap, she stares up, tears in her eyes, and says, “’This is where you die, Sabine. Please don’t die.’”
Kenders stared at her friend, unsure what to say and ashamed that the only thought running through her head was that she needed to break her promise. Broedi had to know about this. Shoving aside her burgeoning sense of betrayal, she said comfortingly, “Sabine, it’s just a dream.”
A quiet, dry chuckle burst from Sabine’s lips.
“Just a dream?”
Shaking her head, she hissed, “Hells, Kenders!” She motioned around her. “Look at where we’re sitting. Look at what’s happened! What is happening! This is not ‘just a dream!’”
“But—”
“Keep the sweet, Kenders. I see nothing but sour here. Nothing! Everyone here has a purpose. You, Nikalys, Jak, Broedi, Nundle, everyone. Hells, apparently even Zecus considering he’s off in Freehaven doing Gods knows what. But me and Helene? What about us? What is our purpose? Why are we here?”
Kenders opened her mouth to respond, but Sabine was not truly looking for an answer. The young beauty continued whispering, unabated.
“I had accepted that our fate, our father’s fate, was a cruel twist of Greya’s will. By the time we reached the enclave, I was actually grateful you found us. But then, the very day we show up, Helene recognizes the room where I die from her blasted dream? This is not a rude word or look that I can easily brush aside!”
Kenders stared blankly at Sabine, her lips shut tight. Not much rattled the young woman, but this business with the dreams certainly did. The sisters’ mother had passed to Maeana’s hall giving birth to Helene and bandits had murdered their father less than two turns ago. Sabine was all Helene had left. Kenders could see the idea of leaving Helene alone worried her greatly.
Kenders had yet to think of something to say when Helene’s happy voice suddenly cut through the hall, startling both young women and most of the room.
“Sabine!”
Glancing up, Kenders saw Helene running toward their table, a wide grin on her face. Marick was trailing her with an amused expression on his.
Sabine managed to shove aside her distress, turned to Helene, and said in a hushed voice, “Helene! Quiet voice, please!”
The little girl climbed atop the bench opposite the girls, clambered over the table—earning another quiet rebuke from Sabine—and plopped herself between Kenders and Sabine. Looking up to Kenders, Helene said in an exaggerated whisper, “Hi, Kenders!”
Kenders peered at Helene. She had a difficult time associating the ominous dream with the smiling little girl.
“Hello, Helene,” murmured Kenders. “How did your lesson go?”
Helene turned to Marick as the mage arrived at the table.
“Did I do good?”
Marick’s amusement bloomed into a full smile as he nodded and said, “Yes, Helene. You did well.” He shifted his gaze to Sabine. “You have a very talented sister.”
Sabine nodded and managed a thin smile in return.
“Thank you, Marick. Is she done for the day, then?”
“I prefer my students to be able to concentrate fully,” replied the young mage. “She has been yawning all morning, and just now, she announced that she was hungry. So…yes, we’re done for the day.”
Helene turned to peer up at Sabine.
“Can I have a sweet cake?”
Nodding, Sabine said, “Yes, but you need to eat something else before you get a sweet cake.”
“No carrots,” declared Helene. “They’re mushy.”
Kenders could not help but smile a bit. Even Sabine seemed a touch amused. Melancholy moods did not last long around Helene.
Sabine glanced up to Marick and asked, “See you tomorrow morning, then?”
“Right after morningmeal, please,” answered the mage. Turning his gaze to Helene, he added, “Enjoy the rest of your day. Rest if you can, Helene. I need you alert and paying attention.”
Helene did not respond as she was too busy playing with a bow on Kenders’ dress.
Marick shifted his gaze to Kenders.
“Good memories behind, Progeny.”
Wishing the man would simply call her by her name, Kenders smiled politely and said, “Good day, Marick.”
As the young mage turned and began to stride from the table, Sabine and Helene rose from the bench. Helene tugged on Kenders’ dress and said, “Come with us, Kenders.”
Kenders shot a look at Sabine. The elder Moiléne sister needed someone to talk to now, preferably, about anything other than dreams.
Smiling at Helene, Kenders nodded and said, “Of course, dear. To the commons.” She reached out and took Helene�
�s hand. Giving her a little wink, she whispered, “I feel like a sweet cake or two myself.”
Helene’s face lit up and the three girls strode to the door in the mages’ hall.
Chapter 6: Performance
Zecus stood next to his father on the chamber floor, head down, eyes staring at the white marble floor streaked with flecks of gold and tan. He could not bring himself to meet his father’s gaze.
Turns upon turns had passed since Joshmuel had left his family in Demetus and while part of Zecus was happy to see him, the dominant emotion felt was shame. He dreaded the inevitable questions that were sure to come.
Zecus, where are your mother, sisters, and brother?
Zecus, why did you leave them alone?
Zecus, what were you thinking?
A tiny sigh slipped from his lips. He did not know how to answer any of them.
For well over a full turn after his father left, Zecus had remained with his mother and siblings, trying to eke out a life in the strange, wet land. However, as more and more refugees poured into the Marshland’s capital, paying work disappeared, the cost of food rose quickly, and the Alsher family resorted to begging.
Prideful and angry, Zecus left his family in Demetus and returned to the Borderlands, hoping he could help fight back the invading Sudashian horde. The Goddess Greya, the Cold Twister of Fate, had other plans for him.
A series of improbable events had delivered him to the Southlands where he met the Progeny and the White Lion, Broedi. Zecus had joined their ranks, seizing upon the chance that he might have found the ones who would ultimately drive the Sudashians from his home.
While he was proud of every action he had taken since leaving Demetus, nothing could erase the shame he felt over the decision that had set him on his path. Soon, he would have to explain to his father what he had done.
For the moment, however, he had other things to worry about. Besides his father and Boah, Jak, Sergeant Trell, and Lady Vivienne stood with him in the empty chamber hall, strung out in a line before the long council table. The vast room felt cavernously bare. The balcony above was empty now.
During their march to the lower floor, Lady Vivienne had given them two simple instructions. One, no one was to speak unless asked a direct question by the council, and, two, none of them were to say anything about the Progeny, White Lions, or Indrida’s prophecy.
The nobles at the council table had been carefully eyeing the four new arrivals since they had emerged from the rear doors. Most held their gaze on Zecus alone.
A moment or two after the quartet stopped beside a baffled Joshmuel and Boah, Duke Kyle leaned forward and demanded, “Vivienne, would you care to explain who in the Nine Hells this young man is? And why he interrupted—” He cut off and turned to glare to Zecus. “Why did you interrupt today’s proceedings in such a manner?! I should toss you in the stockade for what you’ve done! The rumors you have started already!”
Lady Vivienne, standing rod-straight, her hands clasped tightly before her, said crisply, “They are not rumors, my Lord.”
Duke Kyle rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair. “I have as much use for accusations without proof as I do for a boat in the desert.”
Zecus glared at the Freelands’ duke, biting his tongue. He wondered if the pile of four-hundred charred oligurt and razorfiend corpses atop Shorn Rise would be proof enough for this man.
“Absence of proof does not invalidate our claims, my Lord,” replied Lady Vivienne curtly.
Lord Tilas sat forward, resting his elbows on the long, oaken table.
“And repeating something a thousand times somehow validates it, Lady Vivienne? I swear upon my honor and my holdings: there is no threat from Sudash! The Borderlands are perfectly safe.”
Boah let a low, disbelieving huff of air slip, earning him a sharp glare from the table and Lady Vivienne. Zecus was surprised that the boisterous man had kept quiet this long.
After a moment, Duke Rholeb turned to Lord Tilas and asked, “Would you have an objection to me sending a detachment of Reed Men over the border, then? Simply so we can confirm your claims?”
Lord Tilas eyed the duke and shot back, “Please do so, my Lord, if you would like to be the one to start a war. Duke Vanson has instructed me to say that should even a single green and white set foot in the Borderlands, he will consider it an act of aggression.”
Duke Rholeb huffed, sat back hard in his chair, and crossed his arms.
“Why am I not surprised?”
Duke Kyle sat forward and said hurriedly, “Let us not be hasty, Baron Tilas. There is no need to level idle threats.”
The baron said firmly, “Threats are not idle if one intends to follow through with them, my Lord.”
Zecus knew little of Oaken Duchies history, but he was certain open warfare between the sovereigns had not occurred in centuries.
Duchess Aleece interjected herself, asking in a tranquil, even tone, “How long will you continue with your lies, Tilas? Sooner or later, we will discover what Vanson is hiding.”
With a grim, haughty smile, Lord Tilas replied, “Your words carry as much water as a bucket with a dozen holes.”
The duchess eyed the baron carefully, showing no reaction to the man’s rudeness. Others did not share such calm, however.
Lady Jonda, the representative of the Red Peaks Duchy, sat forward and said with clear exasperation, “This is getting us nowhere!” The elderly, white-haired woman shook her head, saying, “Vivienne and Tilas have walked down this road before, and it went nowhere. I’ll be blasted if I will listen to this again. The only thing I care to hear right now, is an explanation as to who he—” she jabbed a finger at Zecus “—is and what he was shouting about in the balcony.” The woman’s blue eyes bored into Zecus. “Young man, say your piece.”
Chairs creaked and clothes rustled as every set of eyes in the room turned to gaze at Zecus. He felt his father’s eyes on him, staring with more curiosity than any other person in the room.
Zecus stared at the nobles’ faces in silence. He had no idea where to begin.
“So now you wish to remain quiet?” asked Duke Kyle, eyebrow raised. “You have our attention, Borderlander. Speak if you will.”
Zecus took a deep breath and, deciding to start with something simple, said in a strong, clear voice, “My name is Zecus Alsher of the village Drysa.” He stopped there, expecting the revelation to prompt some questions. Sure enough, Duke Kyle sat taller immediately, his gaze flicking to Zecus’ father.
“Alsher? From Drysa? You are related to the petitioner, then?”
Zecus nodded.
“Yes, my Lord. He is my father.”
Lord Tilas clapped his hands together and exclaimed, “Hah!” He spun to face Duke Kyle. “You want proof, my Lord? I offer this as proof of a conspiracy against me and Duke Vanson!” Glaring back at Zecus and Joshmuel, he sneered, “Father and son, both of them liars!”
Boah took a step forward, but stopped when Joshmuel reached out and grabbed his arm. Holding tightly to Boah’s wrist, Zecus’ father responded quickly, yet calmly, saying “My Lords and Ladies, this morning was the first time I have seen my son in many turns. I am as stunned as everyone here by his presence and his claims.” Peering directly at Zecus, he continued, “Truthfully, I would venture no one is more surprised.” The look of concern and worry on his father’s face tore at Zecus’ heart.
Taking advantage of the quiet moment, Boah ripped free of Joshmuel’s grip, stepped forward, and called out, “Joshmuel is telling the truth! The last time we saw Zecus, he was in Demetus.” Zecus’ father reached his hand back out in an attempt to restrain Boah, but the brazen Borderlander yanked his arm away. Jabbing a finger at Lord Tilas, Boah barked, “Joshmuel and Zecus might be the most honest men I have ever known. I will not stand by while they are called liars, especially by a smug lout of a baron!”
Zecus grimaced.
Leaping from his chair, Lord Tilas rested his hand on the tabletop, leaned forward, and sna
pped, “Show me respect, you brainless goat-herder, else I will slice your—” Lord Treswell reached out quickly and grabbed Lord Tilas’ arm, interrupting him. The baron ceased his threat and stood motionless, his rage held in check yet still clearly simmering. After a moment, he took his seat and folded his hands, resting them on the table. His knuckles were white.
Duke Rholeb, resplendent in his green and white tunic, slid forward to the edge of his chair, his eyes on Zecus. “Young man, I’d be interested in hearing how you came to be in Demetus. Perhaps you could share that with us how you came to my capital?” Glancing at Lord Tilas, he added sharply, “As well its condition when you were there?”
With a respectful nod, Zecus replied, “Yes, my Lord. Our family was one of the first to head west, to leave the Borderlands.” He glanced at Joshmuel. “Father recognized the threat long before anyone in Drysa. I disagreed with him wanting to run, but now I realize it was the correct choice.”
Joshmuel gave him a small, kind smile.
After a short pause, Zecus faced Duke Rholeb and continued, “When we arrived in your city, my Lord, Father and Boah left, leaving me with my mother, two sisters, and brother. At first, I found your city to be tolerable.”
A flicker of a smile crossed the duke’s face.
Realizing he had insulted Duke Rholeb’s seat of his duchy, Zecus quickly added, “What I mean to say is that it was a good city, but…it was a strange land for us.”
Duke Rholeb gave a brief nod, indicating his understanding. “I take no offense, young man. I find the dust of the Borderlands ‘tolerable’ as well.”
“Of course, my Lord.”
“So,” said the duke. “You arrived in my ‘tolerable’ city. Then what?”
“We found a small room at an inn and stayed there for a short time. I found work and some coin as a day laborer, doing whatever people would pay me to do. Mother and Tiliah looked for work, but we were…out of place. Neither had skills worthy of the city. Jezra and Jerem were simply too young.”
“The little coin we had or made disappeared quickly, along with paying work as more people came from the west. Within weeks, a hunk of bread that had cost two coppers suddenly cost three silver. And it had maggots. In order to eat, we left the inn and moved outside of the city walls to live in the camps. We slept on the ground, without a roof. It was a hard life, my Lord.”
