by Greg Curtis
“Your wizard, Baen Walkerton; would he be willing to speak to this in Foreane?” another man asked.
“I do not know.” She tried to place the name but even though it was familiar to her it took her a moment to remember it. It was the Glade of Tribute. “He likely would, but he cannot. He has been banished by your priests.” Wasn't that in the papers she'd given them, she wondered? “And none of your people can come to him, since the moment they cross the border they would not be allowed to return.” She wished she knew what bizarre reason had been given for that.
“You have heard word of the favoured souls being unhappy in our Realm?” A woman asked unexpectedly.
“Some of those who fled across the border have since returned with tales of being locked away and interrogated, much as Baen Walkerton was. Now they live in a no man's land between the Realms and spread tales of woe.” But why was that, she wondered? Had they been sent away because of this battle between seers? Or was it because they had turned out to be criminals? No one knew. But again, it threatened to stir up trouble. If only they knew what was true and what wasn’t.
They really needed their own seers, but as had been shown; none of them could be relied upon. When all was said and done when one of them saw his or her own demise ahead, he or she would use their gift to protect themselves, regardless of the cost. It was only human – or Fae.
The terrible thing was that she had to wonder if this had always been the case. Had seers always acted in their own self-interest first when the need arose? She though they just might have. It was in everyone's nature to protect themselves. It was just that for a seer that protection extended to their future selves and to their very sanity. Just how many of the world's problems were due to their machinations? There was no way to be sure.
The only thing she could be sure of was that they could never again simply accept their answers. The seers would lie if it would protect them. And all of them now, were living in uncertain futures. Many of them would be busy trying to protect their future selves by changing things.
By the Lady! It was such a powerful and dangerous gift they had! It controlled their lives. Hell – it was their lives! And no one had ever guessed. She doubted that anyone had ever even thought about it.
“This must be studied.” The priest with the silver crescent moon on his cheek suddenly announced. “And not by us.”
“Agreed.” Dariya nodded.
“Then please ask your wizard, Baen Walkerton, to draw the Illifaran – the Circle of Calling – and when he is ready to speak the name Sia Oran of Foreane when the moon is high. He will be heard.”
“I will.” Even as she said it, Dariya began writing down the names he'd given her. She didn't know who Sia Oran was or what the Circle was for, but she could guess. And if Baen could speak directly to someone of importance in the Hallows, it would make her task here easier. Assuming he knew how to draw this Illifaran. And that this Sia was in fact the High Priestess of the Foreanne, the Glade of Tribute.
Dariya continued answering the questions asked of her as best she could, while more people arrived and listened. And in time she had to start all over again with more papers and fresh faces all around the fire as the first group departed.
But at least the word was getting out. The real concern was – what would the response be? And what would Baen and this Sia discuss?
Chapter Thirty Seven
Baen was nervous. Even though he knew he was safe, he hadn't spoken with any priests of the Hallows since Persea and Tariq, and he didn't want to ever repeat that conversation. They had seemed so pleasant! Right up until they'd ripped into his skull with their magic.
But this had to be done. If this was the way to get word across to G'lorenvale of what was truly happening in the world then a High Priestess was the best person to tell. And there weren't that many of them.
The circle complete, Baen took his place and emptied his head of his worries as best he could. Then he sent his thoughts out, calling for Sia.
“Are you sure you've got this right, Boy?” Great Uncle Mortimer asked. “Because some of those chalk marks look crooked.”
“They're meant to be crooked Great Uncle. Each wobble in each line has meaning. That's why it takes so long to draw these things.” A thought struck him. His great uncle had been far more focussed of late. He still talked to himself, but also to others. And there was less ire. “Besides, you should remember this working.”
“I'm not sure of half of anything I remember anymore. Not since that damned attack by Duke Barnly. Bastard shattered half my head like a bullet! But I wouldn't expect a silly little boy still in short pants to understand!”
“Then trust me. I know my magic.”
Great Uncle Mortimer's answer was a heavy sigh, and Baen had to assume that that was all the acceptance he would get. His great uncle was still in a terrible mood, constantly grumbling and complaining, but he seemed to be getting stronger. That surely meant he was adjusting to the new future and his new memories of it. So instead of continuing to argue with him about it, he returned to his enchantment, and sent out his magical cry.
Strangely, despite the distance, he was heard immediately.
“Baen.” A woman – Sia – answered him and a heartbeat later the link was made. He could hear her as clearly as if she was seated right in front of him. Her ghostly visage suddenly appeared before him.
“Ahh, you!” Great Uncle Mortimer let out an annoyed sigh. “I should have known!”
“Do you know me?” The woman turned her attention to Baen's great uncle, her eyes wide in surprise. “Because I don't know you!”
“You will. But not yet!”
“Great Uncle Mortimer!” Baen was embarrassed by his bluntness, especially when dealing with a woman of importance. And yet he shouldn't have been. His great uncle always acted like this. It took him a moment to collect his wits. “Sia, may I introduce my Great Uncle Mortimer Walkerton. I asked him to be here for this as he is a seer.” And also because his great uncle had insisted, but he decided it would be better not to tell her that.
“A seer?” The woman's voice changed. “Then if what we have been told is true, you are not to be trusted?”
“No more than you High Priestess Sia Oran,” Mortimer answered her bluntly, naming her too. “Or as you will be known in Grenland, the High Priestess of Pity. In your own Realm after you've brought it to its knees they’ll call you Domani Fol.”
Baen gasped. The High Priestess gasped too. Because they both understood that what he'd just called her was the Queen of Wretchedness. A terrible insult.
“We all have our own reasons for doing what we do,” Mortimer continued, untroubled by their reactions. “Mine in being here is to try and keep as many of my memories of the rest of my years as whole as possible in a world that is in chaos thanks to the likes of you. I can do that best by not allowing you and the others to start a war.”
“What?!” Baen was caught off guard again. She was the enemy?!
“Quiet Boy! You have no idea of what's happening or who this fool woman is!”
“How dare you!” Even as a ghostly visage the woman visibly paled with anger as her eyes turned black. “I will not be spoken to in such an insolent manner!”
“Then you should not be planning treachery! And though they are fading now and being replaced by new ones – worse ones for you – I still have memories of you at your trial six months from now, pleading for forgiveness for this very treason. You claimed you were lied to and acted on those lies.”
“Your seer though, Metea Tara Te who will soon be known as Talona Mia, wants those memories back because while you were facing trial she was with her daughter Estor and Estor's ward Barnly Featherstone, sipping wine in Castle Gren, having won the war. That was always their plan. Now her plans are in ruins.”
Despite the fact that he was sitting down, Baen nearly fell over in shock when he heard that. Talona Mia? It meant dark helper as best he could translate. But it was the last part of wh
at his great uncle had said that shocked him.
“Your seer's daughter is Estor? … Which means… It was you who freed Estor and then she who freed the Duke?” Finally Baen had an answer.
“I had to! Metea refused to speak of the future if I did not save her daughter!”
“Not only that,” his great uncle continued while Baen sat there lost in disbelief, “But in the songs they wrote of this fallen High Priestess in the years to come, it was said that it was she who instructed her priests – you've met some of them I believe – to treat many of the thanes that came to G'lorenvale as if they were Reaver bound. Any of the thanes who could have prevented Barnly's claim to the throne. You destroyed them for her.”
“But –!” The High Priestess began to splutter.
“That was the deal your seer and Barnly made so long ago. He needed to learn how to use his gift, and Metea Tara Te's daughter could teach him and provide him with potions to help him change his own personal future without shattering his mind. The very potions she'd learned to craft to help her mother. Meanwhile the seer's future became brighter.”
“But something went wrong. Something that should have been obvious to anyone whether they had the gift or not. Under Estor's potions Barnly became too powerful. With no consequences he was willing to make drastic changes to his future. Because if there are no consequences, why would anyone who had the gift not use it? And he badly wanted the throne. He always had. And as he grew older and Castle Gren remained firmly out of his grasp, he threw caution to the wind. Your seer and her daughter helped him. They had no choice by then. The Duke had taken control. One word to those of G'lorenvale about what your seer was doing, and she would have lost everything. Including her life when you found out how she was playing you.”
“In fairness to Metea though, before she struck this deal she was a wretch. Born under an unlucky star. Her future was ever in conflict with itself. She kept trying to change it – and suffered for it. And when she told you of her gift, it grew worse. If only she had kept her gift hidden and never become your seer, she would have been a thousand times luckier. Because you kept asking her to predict things, and the predictions changed her future.”
“In the end she took a gamble thinking that another seer – the Duke – could help her. He took advantage of that. And after that the potions that Estor had originally made for her mother to help with her condition, he controlled. He sent them to Metea as and when he needed her. And he sired a son with her daughter.”
“Metea had in the end just swapped masters. The two of them should never have got involved with the brothers' war.”
“Theirs is an old story, retold. Two brothers, neither of them with any true claim to the throne of Grenland, fighting over it to the death. And then, when one died, a brother and his nephew continuing the war. One with the gift of seeing the future and toying with it, the other with the gift of the golden tongue.”
Baen's mouth fell open! The King had a gift too?! Once more he was left shocked. But he knew the gift. He even understood it. The golden tongue. The voice that would allow a man to persuade others to his cause. It explained how he had kept the throne when on paper at least, he should have long since been overthrown. He was not a popular king and he had made some terrible mistakes. There were a great many people who wanted him dead.
“That future should have held. But the Duke changed it. Shattered it really. And of the seers only he and Metea Tara Te were able to endure the effects without being all but destroyed by them. The rest of us have been broken and are only now beginning to heal.”
“But every change the Duke made was resisted. Knowing the future doesn't mean you always know precisely how to change it. You can only know what your future self knows – and if he wasn't there to see things happen, he doesn't know exactly what happened. My Great Nephew here played his part. Other seers did the same. And the chaos spread.”
“Now all of us are in pieces. And some like the Duke and your seer are desperately trying to change the world to suit themselves with more and more extreme acts. Like what you're doing now. You've been told ever more wild lies and been pushed towards doing something utterly stupid.”
What was she doing? The question immediately struck Baen. He'd thought she'd just arranged to talk with him. But then he'd thought she was a high priestess not an enemy.
“I'm not –.”
“What you claimed at your trial, which was widely reported which in turn is how I know of it, was that Metea Tara Te told you that King Richmond's armies were about to strike all of the Trade Missions at once. They were going to kill hundreds if not thousands of your people, including your priests and then start a war.”
“In truth, at the time, King Richmond was desperately trying to cling to his throne after a series of blunders and acts of sabotage. He wasn't about to start a war.”
“But you did. You built your silvery moonlight highways to send your wolf riders to all the Missions and to start it. This was the war you dreamed of. But something went very wrong. In all your dreams you had never considered one possibility. That G'lorenvale would lose. You shattered the Golden Concord. Destroyed your own temples. Got half your people killed. And sent the rest into hiding.”
“In six months if you do this, G'lorenvale will be in ruins. Your people will be running and hiding as the forests burn. And in the confusion Barnly will have taken the throne of Grenland. What will follow are many more years of open warfare during which millions of people will die. And this world will once more return to the dark ages six hundred years past.”
“You can't know that!” the High Priestess retorted angrily. Obviously she'd had enough. “We will not lose!”
“Of course I can Girl. I remember it happening as if it was yesterday when it was many years ago. It happens in the last fading future. It happens in all the new ones trying to take its place. G'lorenvale loses! And I remember the question that was asked of you over and over again as the trial continued. The one you could never answer. Why did you rely so greatly on the word of Metea Tara Te? Why did you base your entire campaign on her word?”
“You don't have to believe me, fool child. And yes, of course I am protecting myself in telling you this. I am trying to preserve my sanity. I need the future to settle down. But I still don’t understand why you would not consult other seers? There are plenty around and most will tell you exactly what I have. And if you had any wit at all you'd know better than to trust the word of any of us! Especially now when all of us are desperately trying to make predictions that will preserve our personal futures and restore our wits.”
The High Priestess didn't answer him. Instead she stood there on the far side of the circle, lost in thought. Perhaps that was a good thing. Especially if what his great uncle had said was right. No one could afford another war. He doubted though that she believed him. Or at least didn’t accept his statement that she should consult other seers. Though it would make more sense than simply relying on one, she wouldn’t do that if the seer she was relying on was telling her what she wanted to hear.
“Great Uncle?” Baen turned to Mortimer and quietly pointed out that her silence was continuing.
“She's thinking,” his great uncle grumbled at him. “And the world is trembling. The future is forming over and over again. The fool woman has been preparing – and been being prepared – for this day for a long time. She has been gathering power for years for just this moment, and never realised it was so she could use it at the direction of her true mistress – her seer. She thinks she's doing it for her Goddess. Damned woman has piss poor judgement for a priestess! She doesn't even know that she's the servant of her seer!”
Baen would have asked more, but there was a flash of light from his side and he turned to look. Then he froze. There was some sort of silvery light extending from the side of his rooftop. A glow that had nothing to do with mere moonlight.
“Shite!”
“This is her doing.” His great uncle nodded at the still thinki
ng High Priestess. “Even as she was talking to you she was planning on using a sleep spell so you would never find out what was happening, while her people built the first of their silvery roads. You would wake up dead.”
“Road?” What he was staring at looked nothing like a road. And how could you build a road right through the heart of a forest anyway?
“I told you Boy! Weren't you listening?! She's been gathering power for years. And all to use for her Goddess' pleasure. She opened up some ancient seals on Fae magic not used since before the wars ended. Even when she knew it was a crime and that it threatened both the peace and the Concord. But then she's been trying to start a war all along. There is no end to the piss pot woman's stupidity! Or to her villainy!”
“But what she didn't guess was that her seer's been helping her for a different reason. Her master, the Duke also wants war because he can use it to wrest power from his nephew. So he got his pet seer to lie to the High Priestess. Tell her she'd win the war. That all her dreams would come true. But now that it's starting, she's just beginning to realise she's been lied to.”
