Future Sight

by John Delaney

In the past she only ever entered the forest on her way to somewhere else or to take part in one of her tribe’s infrequent hunting trips. Seeing all this beauty and vibrant life as mere ground to be covered or prey to be killed seemed criminal now, almost blasphemous. There were no armies here, no tribal warriors or fighting pits. There were no politics, no war, no walled cities to be taken or besieged. There were no supreme wizards or generation-spanning gambits in Krosa. The gods and angels and devils that ruined Otaria were all outside, in the towns and in the countryside, but not here. Never here. Here it was simply better.

  Krosa was famous for its creatures, from its iridescent-winged dragonflies to its massive, ground-shaking grendelkin. As she remembered this something large and sleek caught her eye. She turned and watched the tail end of a centaur disappearing into the woods, a huge dapple-gray hulk as swift as a bird in flight. Of all the tribes in Otaria, the centaurs were the most like her own Pardic people. They were formidable, yet they kept to themselves and their own terrain, content to better themselves and their neighbors through discipline and hard toil. There were no centaur kings who sought to subject the rest of the continent, no centaur agitators who stirred the people to rebellion in order to further their own drive for power. Her brother had befriended several centaurs over the years, sages and warriors alike, and they stood among his most valued and trusted allies.

  A rattlesnake’s tail sounded, and she looked down. Krosa was also home to a multitude of serpents, pythons, cobras, and sleek, colorful adders. The rest of Otaria was overrun with hybrid snake-men, but the forest maintained a huge supply of the real thing. Her brother had been forced to fight the man who had created the snake-men, forced to destroy a one-time partner and friend. It would have been better if the snakes had remained snakes and stayed in the forest.

  Jeska paused. Her thoughts kept returning to Kamahl, though she was not entirely sure why. He was her brother, one of Otaria’s greatest heroes, and before that, the Pardic fighting champion. She used to think of him often, but lately he had not crossed her mind at all. Perhaps all it took to unlock that flood of memory was a visit to the forest he loved so much, the forest that she was only now able to appreciate.

  Jeska forged deeper into the woods. She tried to shake off the nameless, lingering doubt that nagged at the back of her mind without fully revealing itself. What was there to worry about? The forest was a place of robust life. While there were real dangers here, there was also solace and safety. Much like her brother, Krosa was rough, wild, and unforgiving, but it was also nurturing, sheltering, and joyfully alive.

  She stopped then, overtaken by an uncanny sense of unreality. How had she come to Krosa in the first place? She couldn’t remember. Was Kamahl here, perhaps in danger? Had he sent for her, calling her to him via her instincts and Krosa’s powerful magic?

  New purpose filled Jeska. She would scour the forest until she found her brother. If he was in trouble, she would help him. If he was not, she would sit with him and talk and laugh and tell stories as they had done when they were children. She missed Kamahl. She missed his maddening, stubborn ways and his reassuring strength. Things might have turned out better for her, for everyone, if she had only stayed closer to her brother’s side.

  * * *

  —

  Jhoira stood with the others, watching Multani as they waited. She had grown distressingly used to standing by and waiting as powerful entities decided her fate, the fate of the entire world. She had been alive for over a thousand years, and it never got any easier.

  The roots and leaves on the back of Multani’s skull rustled. Drawn by the sound, Jhoira and the others pressed in close behind the seated figure, though Radha and Teferi kept their eyes on Jeska.

  As she stared, Jhoira saw new growth push through the back of Multani’s head. A single stick of flat wood sprouted and spread, eventually forming a small circle. The round object took on features, slowly becoming a miniature copy of the face on the other side of Multani’s skull. Fascinated and unnerved, Jhoira leaned in close.

  “I can see her,” Multani said, his voice heavy with concern. “I can hear her and feel her, but I can’t reach her. Every time I start to connect something breaks her concentration and I have to start over. She’s resisting me on a deep and primal level.”

  “Do you want to stop?”

  “No,” Multani said. “But I might need your help. If I can’t break through to her she may lash out. She might free herself. You must be ready.”

  “We’ve been ready since before you started,” Radha said.

  “You can do me the most good, Keldon elf. You have tasted Yavimaya’s power. Gather it to you now and hold it in reserve. If I need it, I will call for it.”

  “Great. Now I’m a stick-man’s water bearer.”

  “Will you do this, Radha?”

  “I will, I will.” The warlord raised her fist, and a cluster of green flames ignited around her. “Just say the word.”

  “Thank you.” The small Multani face fell dormant. Jhoira exhaled and wondered what was going on and how much of it she would ever understand.

  * * *

  —

  “Kamahl,” Jeska called. She felt her brother’s presence more strongly than ever, but there were no visible signs, so she was reduced to following the centaur’s tracks.

  She was oddly excited, elated to be alive and active in the forest. She lost herself in the simplicity and purity of a clear goal that was within her power.

  She heard the heavy tread of centaur’s feet up ahead and picked up the pace. She could never hope to outrun a centaur, or even catch up with one, but the closer she stayed the closer she’d be when it stopped. She fully expected to find Kamahl when she did, though she had no rational reason for doing so, and she drove herself even harder.

  An animal roar echoed across the forest, and Jeska slowed. It might be the centaur’s prey, caught at last, or a chance encounter between dangerous beasts. Jeska strained to hear more, and when she succeeded she stopped entirely.

  The different stripes of mana each had their own look and feel, but to Jeska each also had its own sound. Blue spells often sounded like wind, rain, or the tide; red like fire and the ground shaking apart; and green like muscles tensing, wood groaning, and the lush drip of a spring thaw. What Jeska heard ahead of her was decidedly black: a thin, low whisper backed by the high-pitched shriek of blade grating against bone. It was the sound of smoke rising, of poison coursing through veins, of the serpent’s hiss just before it struck.

  There was black mana at work ahead, and it was being employed on a massive scale. Jeska was afraid. Swamp magic, Cabal magic, had no place here. The forest was wild and unrestrained, its secrets there for the finding; Cabal City was closed, focused, civilized, even elegant, but its secrets could only be bought with blood. Krosan magic bestowed life, health, and growth; the marsh city magic bestowed death, disease, and decay.

  Jeska stood a moment more, then went on. Whatever was happening ahead, her brother was involved. She would never turn away from her own flesh and blood, never let the most important people in her life face danger alone. Jeska steeled herself, took a deep breath, and rushed out toward the sounds of magical combat.

  * * *

  —

  Jhoira and the others were still watching and waiting when the smaller of Multani’s faces came alive again.

  “Something is still fighting me,” Multani said.

  “Jeska herself?”

  “I cannot say. If it is not her then someone else has gained access to her mind. Someone very subtle and very strong.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Lend me your feelings. All of you focus on the pastoral, green memories in your past. To soothe Jeska’s troubled spirit we must share with her the warm and reassuring sensations of childhood. She is troubled and seeks comfort that we can provide. If you ever climbed a tree, dug a hole, or planted a garden, think upon it now. Relish it. And Radha?”

  “I’m here.”
>
  “Gather more mana, as much as you can hold. I will call for it soon.”

  The Keldon nodded. The flames around her grew larger, fatter, and brighter.

  “Good,” Multani said. “It will be over soon, one way or the other.”

  * * *

  —

  Jeska climbed over a fallen log that was taller on its side than she was on her feet. She slid down to the ground, placed her hand on her sword, and stepped through the underbrush into a small, circular glade.

  She had come searching for her brother, and though she had found him at last, she never imagined him like this.

  Kamahl was as he had been before he left the tribe, huge and muscular, his close-cropped skull massive and lumpy enough to crack stone. He had his gigantic broadsword out and was swinging it in huge arcs. Each swipe decorated the trees and forest floor with blood. Her brother’s face was bent and twisted into the horrific rictus he always wore when fighting to the death.

  Dozens of wild animals and monsters were crushing in on Kamahl, snapping and snarling and tearing at him. There were jungle cats and crocodile-sized lizards. There were squat, apelike creatures and two-headed wolves. There were long, limbed snakes with fangs exposed and venom dripping. Many more were already dead or dying in pieces at his feet, some hacked clean through and others burned black. The blood and carnage chilled Jeska, both because Kamahl was responsible for it and because she had not been by his side to help.

  Kamahl turned in a full circle, sweeping his giant blade through the entire fellowship of monsters, cutting every last one of them down. Her brother laughed loudly as blood spattered across his face and viscera fouled his trim, red chin whiskers.

  Kamahl raised his sword high overhead with both hands as fire licked from the edges of the blade. Bellowing in mad fury, he inverted the sword and slammed the tip down into the rich Krosan soil. Jeska shielded her eyes against the fireball that erupted and engulfed Kamahl, covering all but the outer edges of the glade in a withering firestorm. The denizens of Krosa screamed from within the inferno, but their death cries were nearly drowned out by her brother’s awful roar of delight.

  “Stop,” she whispered. “Please make it stop.” The flames soon complied, but Kamahl’s laughter continued. She stood and stared until the last dying embers went out, until her brother stood alone in the center of a smoking, burned-out ring.

  “Sister,” he said. His tone was buoyant, but he still wore the killing face, his teeth clenched, his nostrils flaring, and his eyes wild. Kamahl drew his sword from the ground, balanced it flat across his broad shoulders, and strolled toward her.

  “What are you doing, Kamahl? What are you doing here?”

  He stopped a short distance away from her. “I’m doing what I do,” he said, still dripping from the slaughter. “And I came here to do it.”

  “But Krosa is your second home,” she said. “You left the path of the warrior for that of the druid.”

  “People don’t change,” Kamahl said. “Oh, we may drift from one perspective to another, one magic to another, but in the end we are only what we are. I enjoyed being a druid. I enjoyed living in this place.” He grinned wide and brandished his gore-streaked sword. “But I like this better.”

  Galloping hooves thundered from outside the clearing before Jeska could answer. She turned toward the sound, but Kamahl was far more alert and aggressive. The dapple gray centaur rode into view, armed with a bow and a long sword. Kamahl raised his blade and grinned, calling out, “You’ve picked a terrible time to be a hero.”

  The centaur swerved as he approached Kamahl, drawing an arrow from his quiver and nocking it.

  “Kamahl, wait. This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Nothing makes sense, Jeska. None of it matters.” From the far side of the clearing, the centaur fired. “This is the life for us. This is the way of the barbarian.” Kamahl tilted his wide sword so that the centaur’s arrow shattered against the flat. “Blood and battle, Little Sister. That’s our lot. Join me, if you still have the stomach for it.”

  “But—”

  The centaur let another arrow fly, but Kamahl was too quick, too hot. He sprang clear of the missile and laughed as he charged toward his foe. Realizing he did not have enough time to load another arrow, the centaur slipped his bow into a harness on his back and raised his long sword.

  Tall and broad as Kamahl was, the centaur still dwarfed him. He reared and kicked at Kamahl with his forelegs and swiped at the barbarian with his blade, but Kamahl easily blocked and dodged. Her brother feinted left with his broadsword and kicked out to his right. Jeska heard a loud crack as Kamahl’s heavy boot connected with the centaur’s back leg. The creature keened a sharp, grating scream as his hind leg crumpled, and he sank heavily onto his haunches.

  Kamahl immediately pounced on the centaur’s horse back, balancing on its spine. The majestic creature bucked and tried to shake him off. Kamahl weathered the storm and stomped down hard. The centaur keened again and dropped his sword, clutching behind him to lay hands on his tormentor.

  Laughing, Kamahl stepped back from the centaur’s hands and raised his broadsword high. He twisted the flat perpendicular to the ground and brought the heavy steel blade down across the top of the centaur’s head.

  Blood splashed from the centaur’s ears and nose. Blood ran down from his split scalp and cracked skull. Blood ran into his mouth and choked him. Blood sprayed from his lips as he coughed his lungs clear.

  The centaur’s eyes rolled, and he toppled sideways to the ground. Kamahl smoothly stepped off the creature’s back and crossed in front of him, his boots crunching on ash and cinders. The centaur struggled and groaned, forcing himself up with his arms.

  Kamahl turned and winked at Jeska. He turned and severed both the centaur’s arms at the elbow with one smooth, deliberate stroke. The dapple gray screamed but remained upright. Waving his grotesque stumps, he began to pray as he decorated the surrounding trees with red.

  “Behold, the noble shaman-warriors of Krosa,” Kamahl said. Grinning, he spat on the maimed, dying creature. “A centaur is a waste of a good horse and a good man. They ought to be one or the other.” He turned. “Don’t you agree, Jeska?”

  She could not speak. She knew what was about to happen, but she could not believe it. The centaurs of Krosa were like Kamahl’s brothers. They were his brothers by oath, ritual, and lifelong friendship. He could not do this.

  Still smiling, Kamahl bent and slashed sideways, slicing clean through the centaur’s body at the waist. Kamahl spun so that he was facing Jeska with his back to the centaur. As the man’s torso slid and dropped off of the horse’s body, Kamahl sheathed his blade with a flourish.

  “And now we’re done,” he said cheerfully. He sauntered back to Jeska, opening his arms wide to receive a brotherly hug.

  “How could you?” Jeska said. “How could you kill him, kill all of them this way? What’s happened to you?”

  Kamahl paused with his arms extended, a look of genuine confusion on his face. “Nothing,” he said. “I am as I always have been.”

  “No. You have always been rough and brash and violent, but you’ve never been this cruel, this bloodthirsty. You never put so much stock in killing, nor took such pleasure from it.”

  “Fiers’s teeth,” Kamahl said. “Do you have another brother named Kamahl I’ve never met?”

  Horror gave way to anger. “Don’t mock me, Kamahl. I know you better than anyone.”

  “You should,” he said. “And yet you seem shocked and appalled that I’m a killer. How is that possible, Jeska? How is it you don’t know your own brother?”

  “You’re a warrior, not a killer,” Jeska said.

  “Oh?” Kamahl’s face lit up with unholy glee. “That’s strange talk from you, Sister. After all, I killed you, didn’t I?” He slid his sword out, effortlessly holding it in one hand. “Twice.”

  “Shut up. I won’t listen to this.”

  “Ah, well. It’s true what they say. You
can’t choose your family.” Kamahl’s joy grew dark and ominous. “Well, half-true, anyway.” The broadsword wavered and changed in his hand. Its tip expanded, and its base contracted as the blade molded and shaped itself into a huge, double-bladed axe. “You can’t choose who is in your family, but you can choose who remains.”

  Jeska stared at the terrible weapon. She was rooted in place, unable to move, barely able to think. Harsh tears clouded her vision as her brother advanced on her with his axe raised for the kill.

  “Good-bye, Jeska. You were always a disappointment.”

  Kamahl swung the axe. Jeska didn’t scream, didn’t run, didn’t do anything but stand and grieve for the monster her brother had become, for the terrible things he had done to her and was now doing again.

  * * *

  —

  Jhoira sat crouching next to Multani, waiting for him to speak, but it was Radha who reacted first. Even before Multani spoke, the Keldon started edging back from the forest avatar so that she was several yards away when his second face started to creak.

  “I failed,” Multani said. “Run.” The look on his face swept aside Jhoira’s natural inclination to ask for more information, and she bolted to her feet. She was three paces away when Jeska exploded.

  Multani’s body disintegrated in the blast. Jhoira was thrown through the air into the unyielding wall of roots so hard the impact doubled her vision. She slid down the wall onto the dirt as something warm and wet ran into her eyes and small bright bombs of pain exploded across her shoulders.

  She could not see clearly, but she recognized the small, angry form of Jeska as it came toward her. The Pardic woman paused to kick something out of her way, and Jhoira saw that it was the larger of Multani’s recent faces.

  Multani, she thought, her lips struggling to form the word. Teferi. Venser. She closed her eyes as her shoulders spasmed again. Anyone.

  “It’s just you and me now, Little One.” Radha’s familiar voice sounded miles away, but the Keldon was as reckless and brazen as ever.