Prophecy's Ruin bw-1

by Sam Bowring

  ‘He’s a Sprite, Lerena. That’s exactly my type of person.’

  ‘Well, it hardly matters,’ said Lerena. ‘Tomorrow we leave Kadass. The road to Ismore is ripe with wagons.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jaya. ‘But he writes that I could meet him tonight at …’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The barracks.’

  ‘You would place us all in danger with such selfishness?’

  ‘No,’ said Jaya sadly.

  So , thought Losara, my other has a woman. Is that what the dream shows?

  •

  Losara closed the door to the roof and produced a key from his robes. He had been told, of course, to return the key to Battu as soon as he was finished in the Breath. Placing it in the palm of one hand, he held the other above it. Darkness oozed from his sleeve to take on shape, forming an exact replica of the key. Losara smiled, and used the shadow key to lock the door. While he would not go against Battu’s wishes, it was nice to know he could if he wished.

  Reflecting on what he’d seen, he couldn’t decide if the shadow had sent him a message or if the visions came simply at the whim of the dream. A part of him knew he should feel outraged that Battu was using his father in a plot involving his other self. His own coldness disturbed him. Where was his anger? Did he possess no passion? Deciding that he needed to think, he made for one of Skygrip’s balconies.

  The passages were quiet this close to dawn. Losara heard a couple of patrols tramping about, but didn’t cross their path. He came to a passage where the air blew cold and fresh, and followed it out onto a stone balcony. Not far away someone was leaning against the wall, looking out into the night. It was the Mire Pixie, Lalenda. This time he could see her face clearly, her black tangle of hair swept back by the breeze. Long lashes curved from her cobalt eyes, and her mouth was downturned at the ends, as if the expression had etched its way into permanence there. Her lips were a darker brown than the muddy colour of her skin, as were her fingernails and the toes of her bare feet. Though she stood shorter, she had the proportions of a young human woman. There was a crystal shine to her cheek where a stream of tears had begun to dry. She was the saddest and most beautiful thing Losara had ever seen.

  Without thinking, he stepped from the shadows. ‘Hello,’ he said, and she spun with a yelp of surprise. ‘Please,’ he said, raising his hands, ‘don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.’

  She stooped to curtsy, her hair falling over her face again. ‘Master Losara,’ she said, shaking. She was terrified, that was plain. Losara walked forward to rest his hands on the balcony wall, looking out over the dark expanse. Lalenda remained bowed, her eyes cast downwards.

  ‘Please stop that,’ he said softly. ‘I’m only here to look upon the night, and I saw that you were doing the same. I thought perhaps we could both do with …company. Will you not come back to the wall, as you were before?’

  ‘As my master commands,’ said Lalenda.

  •

  Lalenda hardly heard what he was saying, so scared was she of Battu’s Apprentice. When he’d come across her in the library, she’d considered it a grave misfortune. Now she feared she’d displeased him with her hasty escape and he’d tracked her down to punish her for her insubordination.

  ‘It wasn’t a command,’ he said. ‘Will you not look at me, Lalenda?’

  She forced her head up and found herself transfixed by his dark stare. She was exposed, helpless, a mouse before a cat.

  ‘It wasn’t a command,’ he repeated. ‘It was a request. I’m asking if you’ll stay a while.’

  She was confused, but she couldn’t do anything about it. She would simply have to obey, as ever. ‘Yes, master.’

  Losara gave a little sigh. ‘You’re free to go, if you want. I wouldn’t keep you here against your will. On the balcony, I mean. I know you can’t leave the castle.’

  Her gaze faltered.

  ‘Go, then,’ he said, turning away. ‘If I am so truly terrible.’

  Despite her fear, Lalenda noticed his odd tone. He sounded offended, or, even more inexplicably, pained. She saw a sadness in his ivory face and for a moment was dumbfounded by it. Then she wondered if it was a trick. Battu could feign all kinds of moods, so why wouldn’t his Apprentice be the same? One thing she did understand clearly, however: she would displease him if she left. Warily she said, ‘I will stay, if it pleases my master.’

  ‘I’m not Battu,’ said Losara, as if he’d read her thoughts. Maybe he had? ‘I don’t kill people because I’m bored, or roast the cook who ruins my favourite dish. Have you ever heard of me doing anything like that?’

  Lalenda stared, uncertain of what to make of this calmly expressed but seemingly heartfelt outburst. ‘No, master,’ she said.

  ‘I do not mean you harm, Lalenda, please believe me. Stay if you wish. Go if you wish.’

  She tried to seem, if not relaxed, then less afraid than she was. ‘I will stay, master,’ she said.

  •

  Losara was intensely aware of her standing so close, of the nervous intake of her breath. She hadn’t run away this time, but he did not believe that she really wanted to remain. Now that she had, he found he didn’t know what to say. There was a lot, of course, that he’d never told anyone, but they weren’t thoughts to be shared with a frightened stranger. His mind raced over the castle chat he’d surreptitiously witnessed and grabbed the first thread that came to him.

  ‘Have you …heard any of the washroom rumours?’ he asked.

  Lalenda gave him an odd look. ‘No, my lord.’

  Losara collected his thoughts. ‘I heard Gedri soaked Counsellor Tysek’s favourite underclothes too long, and sent them back too small. Apparently Tysek looked uncomfortable all day.’

  He glanced at Lalenda and she quickly averted her eyes. She seemed confused by what reaction she was supposed to have, and Losara was confused too. When he’d heard the goblins in the corridor tell the story, they’d thought it was hilarious.

  ‘Will he be punished?’ Lalenda asked hesitantly.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Gedri.’

  Losara sighed and closed his eyes, feeling the breeze on his lids. ‘I didn’t think it was very funny either,’ he said.

  •

  Some moments passed and she worried that she had offended him.

  ‘I often enjoy silence,’ he said, ‘but I’ve never known it to be so uncomfortable.’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘What do you think of silence, Lalenda?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Lalenda, her brow creasing. ‘I …my part of the castle is very quiet, so if there’s a noise it will usually startle …Silence is a companion you didn’t know you had until it’s broken …’ She was rambling and she realised it. She tried to clamp down on her tongue, but it kept starting sentences she had to finish. ‘Most of my companions are books, master, and they don’t need sound to speak.’ She managed to stop, and looked horrified with herself.

  Losara raised an eyebrow. ‘Books don’t need sound to speak?’ he echoed.

  ‘I’m sorry, master, it was a stupid thing to say.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t.’

  He’s so calm , Lalenda thought suddenly. She hadn’t seen it before as she was so frightened, but now, for a moment, she did. His voice was so even, his gaze so constant. The wind rustled the fine threads of his hair, and the folds of his cloak flapped about him, but he himself was as still as a statue. She felt as if it was the first time she’d ever truly seen him.

  ‘I like books also,’ he said. ‘Though I don’t read as many as I should. Always been a slow reader. Think too much as I go, you see.’

  ‘I’ve read many, master. A word can paint a thousand pictures. And it’s my only way to leave the castle.’ On making this statement, she began to tremble. ‘Forgive me, I don’t know why I said that.’

  ‘Probably because it is true,’ said Losara.

  ‘Master?’

  ‘Heron tells me you’ve been kept a prisoner here since you were a little
girl. I’m sure you hate it utterly.’

  She was astonished by his words.

  ‘I have also been here for as long as I remember,’ he continued. ‘Though I am luckier than you. I can go into the dream and visit other places, even if they are muted and cannot be touched. I suppose your books have the same effect. Worlds created insubstantial; a look through a window at other people’s lives. Yes, we have that in common, it seems.’

  Lalenda could not reconcile her assumptions of this man with the way he appeared to her now. Was he toying with her, or was this really him?

  ‘While we’re talking,’ Losara said, ‘there’s something I’d like to ask you, you being the one who foresaw my birth. Will you tell me what you saw?’

  Lalenda shifted her feet. If there was one thing she had no trouble with, it was remembering her vivid visions of prophecy, which stood out like lights in her dull past. If this was what her master wanted, this she could provide. She cleared her throat and spoke.

  ‘It was not a universal vision, lord, but a vision had by me alone. I see a wood of grey trees and, walking through it, a strong man with a beard. He is looking for a special herb that his wife wants him to find. She has warned him not to pluck the stems, as the plant will not recover, but only to take its tiny leaves. He finds the herb, and fumbles at the leaves with big fingers, being very careful.’ She paused, aware of the detail she was going into. ‘Do you wish me to be briefer, master?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Er …yes, master. Eventually the man has collected enough and goes home to a hut in a clearing. Inside is his pregnant wife, asleep. He brews the herb in a tea, and strokes her hair to awaken her. She drinks the tea, which is supposed to nourish and strengthen the unborn child. The herb is potent with an ancient magic, the wild magic that still lingers about the wood. In the dream I know this, because the woman knows this. The next day the woman awakes to find her hair has turned blue. The man is beside himself with worry, but she is not as concerned as he. I awoke from the dream knowing I’d seen Whisperwood, and that the woman would surely give birth to a blue-haired boy. Battu sent Tyrellan forth the next day to fetch you.’

  ‘And a mage called Fazel,’ said Losara.

  ‘Yes, lord.’

  Losara was silent a moment. ‘Sounds like they loved each other.’

  ‘Lord?’

  ‘My mother and father. You know, Lalenda, what you’ve just told me is the most I know of them. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she said awkwardly.

  ‘Let me ask you another thing,’ said Losara. ‘You used the term “universal vision”? I have little understanding of the art.’

  ‘I shall explain as you wish, master. A universal prophecy is one that goes out to all prophets in the world. The foretelling of your birth was such a prophecy. That’s why it has been common knowledge for the last century. More common is a personal form of prophecy, which more closely reflects the life of the prophet herself, or those around her. I have been known to dream of what I would have for breakfast the next day.’

  Losara chuckled, and Lalenda found herself inexplicably flushing with pleasure.

  ‘Occasionally,’ she went on, ‘we see greater events that others do not. So it was with your mother’s hair turning blue.’

  ‘A last question,’ said Losara, ‘and then I shall drop this subject, I promise.’

  You need not promise anything to me, thought Lalenda.

  ‘You did not experience that first prophecy that heralded my birth, but do you know what it was? I have asked Heron and Battu, but they only know what the prophets said of the vision, not the vision itself.’

  ‘It has been described in various texts as the clashing of two armies, light and shadow. Under a setting sun they fight a great battle, a battle for the world. The vision closes on the victorious leader, who stands atop a hill with his sword raised high …and all that can be seen of him in the dying light is his long blue hair. The prophets knew that when a child with blue hair was born, he would be the one to defeat his enemy and so end the struggle between Fenvarrow and Kainordas.’

  She stopped, suddenly aware that she might be talking about the very man who stood before her. He was too real to be the figure of this future legend.

  ‘And the vision showed nothing of the split,’ Losara said, almost to himself.

  ‘No, master.’

  Losara nodded, and Lalenda realised she had given him something to think about. She felt exhausted, however, and found herself wanting to be alone so she could sort through all the chaotic thoughts this encounter had bred.

  ‘I’m becoming tired, master,’ she said as politely as possible. ‘I should get to bed. If you will excuse me?’

  ‘Of course, Lalenda. Thank you for talking with me.’

  Lalenda curtsied, deeply relieved. She walked away, careful not to rush. As she went, she was surprised by the realisation that perhaps she had actually wanted to stay. No one had really spoken to her in a long time.

  •

  Losara remained a while longer, troubled by the scene Lalenda had described. He pictured it again – the great commander holding a sword aloft in triumph – and looked down upon his own soft hands.

  Eighteen

  New Horizons

  Battu sat on Refectu with his jaw on his fist, Heron and Tyrellan on either side of the throne. Before him stood the boy, dressed in green cloth with a satchel at his side, ready for his journey. He had a look of calm on his face that made Battu want to shake him. Instead: ‘There’s little guidance I can give you,’ the Shadowdreamer said, as though he regretted it. ‘Heron, please explain the old laws.’

  ‘Master Apprentice,’ Heron said, ‘today you begin your journey to Assedrynn’s Isle. At the village of Frake, the priests of Assedrynn will provide you with a boat. Though you have a starting point, the end remains uncertain. If the Dark Gods wish to receive you, they will. If they do not recognise your legitimacy, you may drift and find nothing. Be wary of the Boundary, for the Isle lies perilously close to it. If you travel across, you will be lost to this world.’

  ‘I cannot share anything of my own journey, boy,’ said Battu. He rose and stepped down from the dais. ‘I can, however, wish you luck.’ Awkwardly he clasped Losara’s shoulder. ‘I shall pray for your journey to be safe.’

  ‘Thank you, master,’ said Losara.

  There wasn’t much else to say. Battu watched Losara leave, escorted by Tyrellan to the aviary. Heron hobbled after them, taking an eternity to leave his sight. Finally only his goblin guards remained, silent and constant in their alcoves like statues. He was alone with his thoughts.

  Memories of his own journey to the Isle had been stirred up, and an old anger came with them. How he hated the gods for what they’d commanded! How it frustrated him that he wouldn’t know what they said to Losara! Would they tell the boy that Battu had disobeyed them? Thinking about it made him even more anxious – would he be punished when his soul reached the Well? Had he redeemed himself from that first rebellious act? There had been no further war since the Shining Mines, and his hunting squads roamed Fenvarrow exterminating the undead. Not to mention that he’d secured the gods their champion.

  In his mind’s eye Battu saw Losara again in the duelling cavern, a monstrous shadow encased in hurricane. Roma had been powerful, and at another time he could well have become Apprentice. It was unsettling that Losara had beaten him so easily. Battu had expected Losara to win, but he’d also expected some sweat and hard breathing. The real question that made him clench his fists: Was Losara more powerful than he? The boy is a device , he reminded himself. If Losara is to lead our armies to victory, of course he must be powerful . The trouble was, when Battu imagined that pale face and calm eyes, he could see nothing of what went on behind them.

  Uncertainty grew.

  •

  Tyrellan had long ago perfected the art of staring at something while appearing not to, one of the advantages of having a pitch-black gaze. He now considered
Losara from the corner of his eye as they walked down the passage.

  All his life Tyrellan had felt little for those around him. Most were stupid or incompetent, and even the most powerful agents of the shadow usually put their own interests first. Battu especially was guilty of this indulgence. Tyrellan, on the other hand, was a true servant of darkness. He’d been born that way, bawling at his expulsion from the dark of his mother’s womb. As a child he had skulked in the barn or the shade of trees, watching his brothers play in the open. His family had been nothing but dimwitted peasants, and he had never been bothered by the fact that he’d murdered them all.

  Losara, however, was different. Tyrellan was sure he embodied the shadow’s very will. Unfortunately, that fact was no protection against Battu, and for years Tyrellan had been a subtle protector, steering the dark lord away from dangerously fretful thoughts. He was thankful he’d managed to avoid having a bug-eye implanted in his skull, for sometimes small insubordinate risks were necessary, and it was bad enough knowing Battu could be lurking in any shadow. Of course it was the other problems with bug-eyes that had formed Tyrellan’s basis for argument: sometimes a bug-eye became infected, or grew abnormally, and its host lost their sight or died. ‘If it is my lord’s wish that none of my daggers find the backs of his assassins,’ Tyrellan had once said, ‘then of course I invite him to ruin my depth perception right away.’ The final reason Tyrellan didn’t want a bug-eye was that if the Shadowdreamer died, all the bug-eyes connected to him also died. Tyrellan didn’t see why he should be crippled in the event of Battu’s passing. The end of Battu did not mean the end of Tyrellan.

  Still, he would have traded the butterfly for a bug-eye in a flash. If Tyrellan had once been indifferent to his birthdays, now he hated them. Every day when he woke up and saw the butterfly, his hatred grew. It was a test, he told himself, a burden he must bear in service of the shadow. Sometimes, however, an interior voice whispered that even if every light went out in the north, and the sun sank into the sea and drowned, even then he wouldn’t be rid of it. He was forced to do something he had never done before. He was going to ask a favour.