Rise of the Seer

by Brandon Barr

  Savarah opened her eyes. “I haven’t decided how I will kill him. If it can be done at all.”

  Meluscia left the bookcase and went to Savarah, reaching out and embracing her. This was the sister she knew well, and listening and holding her amidst her pain was the greatest bond they shared. Savarah’s hatred was slowly whittling away at her mind. Hardly a week went by when Meluscia didn’t hear of a gruesome dream, or the often-told story of her family’s murder. She wondered if her sister even knew she was repeating herself, or if she was completely swallowed up by the images in her mind, that constantly releasing them was the only way she experienced peace. But there was a heart beating inside her, and allowing her to show it, as violent as it was, was the only way Meluscia knew how to help her.

  Savarah slid away from Meluscia’s embrace, not unkindly, then walked along the bookcases, her fingers brushing lightly along the bindings. “In one of your sacred texts it says that the blood of the innocent cries out for justice. That has become the sound constant in my ears. Vengeance. Justice.”

  Normally, Meluscia would not respond, but something was different now. Savarah’s knowing about Jonakin—about her secret longings—it had laid down a bridge that had never been there before. Meluscia quoted from Ryclid’s Elucidation, “There are other ways to win an enemy. A thousand ways to kill a person without a weapon. One hundred thousand intricacies to change a heart.”

  “Mmm,” hummed Savarah. “A beautiful sound to those words. But you can’t change the heart of a Beast. And its followers, the Shadowmen… they are hardly any better.” Savarah stopped and turned at the end of the stone bookshelves, her face glowed softly red under a backlit crystal. “Meluscia, I hope to see you lead the Hold before I die. Even if your compassion proves suicidal, it would be good for this world to see another Monaiella.”

  Meluscia’s mouth fell open. What was suddenly at her lips felt bizarre, but there was a connection between them that had never been there before, and she released it. “Would you feel much if I died?”

  “I would.” Soundlessly, Savarah moved toward the tall staircase, but stopped before ascending and looked at her. “There wouldn’t be tears. But I would feel it. I would kill more than I ever killed before.”

  Savarah disappeared like a phantom into the darkness of the stairs.

  Meluscia’s eyes fixed on the red glimmer of the hanging crystals. The light soothed her as it flickered above. She recited scripture in her mind, longing for the listening ears of the Makers. A sad smile formed on her lips as Savarah’s last words echoed in her heart.

  Chapter Seven

  MELUSCIA

  She looked out at her father’s throne room anxiously. The vast cavern streamed with sunlight as the twenty jeweled windows stretched up into the vaulted rock arches. The left side of the throne was lit through the dazzling orange of fire opal, and on the sunward side was the transparent yellow feldspar called orthoclase. The refraction from the cut gems made the light dance like an echo in the room, bouncing and rebounding off the adularescent moonstone that covered the floor.

  The great onyx throne sat at the end of the room, surrounded by jeweled furnishings inlaid with precious stones of every variety known within the kingdom. Lining the long walk to the throne were pillows of black satin for those waiting for a hearing with her father, Trigon, the Luminary of the Blue Mountains.

  If Meluscia became Luminess, she would turn this throne room into a sanctuary for meditation and prayer. It was too magnificent for a Luminary, it should be a place where one came to ponder the Makers, and offer them petition, or sit in quiet reflection. One only had to look around to see the beautiful work of ages that her people had created from the raw materials given them by the gods.

  She would return the throne to the cavern used a millennium ago, a much more modest setting for mere humans.

  Ahead, her father sat slumped upon the throne, a grimace punctuating his lips. No doubt his body was in great pain for having ridden a horse with the patrol. The sunweed blight was eating away at what remained of his strength. He was like a picked white rose, wilting more every day. The malady seemed to be accelerating, as it had with her mother two years ago. Her father was forty-six, but looked like a decrepit seventy-year-old.

  She was prepared for him. If she must, she would match him, stubborn blow to stubborn blow, showing him only unrelenting determination to get what she wanted. That was his language. A language that dominated the rulers since the Dawn of Ages. If she ever became Luminess, she would need to speak it fluently, even if it wasn’t her native tongue.

  Meluscia stepped into the room, passing through the guards and weaving a path through the line of officials and citizens seated on pillows, waiting to be heard.

  Her father’s eyes sparkled and came alive when they caught sight of her.

  “Ah, a beautiful disruption,” said her father, “your red hair glows like a sunset in this room. Just like your mother’s did.”

  She returned her father’s compliment with a smile and leaned against the fur covered arm of the onyx chair.

  The reverberant hum of courtiers had fallen to whispers at the sight of her presence. Her father turned to an attendant. “The singers, please.”

  At once the room was filled with the drawn melodic chant of the two court singers, their voices drowning out any conversations the Luminary wished to keep private.

  “What brings you, Mel?” asked her father. “Some new writing you’ve fallen in love with in the Scriptorium?”

  Meluscia smirked. “I wouldn’t bother you with those. They bore you so.”

  “Not when you recount them. Passion makes all the difference when retelling history or scriptures.”

  “Peoples’ stories are fascinating things. So are peoples’ hearts. But that’s not the reason I’ve come. You’ve been gone on patrol for three weeks. I hope that was enough time to consider my request.”

  Her father’s eyes closed. “If it’s a decision you’re hoping for, I’m afraid I will have to disappoint you.”

  Meluscia’s fingers dug into the furred arm of the throne. The fury she felt rose up in her chest like steam from a hidden vent. She tried to hold it in, to keep its effects from coloring her face.

  Before her father left for patrol, she’d come to him, asking him to finally decide who would be his successor. She’d boldly requested that he officially recognize her as Luminess Imminent and allow her to travel to the Verdlands as his representative with an offer of reconciliation.

  The move had been daring on her part. Boldness would need to be the posture of her heart if the kingdom was to be hers to rule. Her father expected it from her, but by asking him for the throne, she was usurping Valcere and all the work her father had put into the man he was grooming to be the next Luminary, should she fail to meet the amorphous standards he expected her to meet.

  She was essentially asking him to end the training of Valcere—who was not blood related—and declare her, his heir, Luminess Imminent, so that when he died, rule would pass into her hands. Her father had said very little in response to her request as he sat on his horse, ready to take his men out on patrol. The cracks at the corners of his eyes had grown deeper, the choice before him adding years to his face. Finally, he had promised to consider her appeal while out on the twenty-day ride. Now it looked as if the ride made no difference.

  “What of the Regents’ council?” asked Meluscia. “If a majority of the thirteen peaks support me, what then? Will that effect whom you choose?”

  “Of course it would. My Regents bend my will more often than not.” He gave her a tired look. “Please, understand my hesitation. Your mother was an orphan, her family line a mystery, and my brother, my only living relative, is no more than a greedy thief.” His worn eyelids scrunched together, and a wistfulness flooded his gaze. “Mel, you were the only child your mother and I were able to have. I have pondered the possibility of your becoming Luminess since the day you were born. You are the only blood heir to the throne
. But I do not see it in your nature.”

  The blow from her father’s lips pushed a hot breath through her mouth. “Is that because you expect me to be like you? That would explain why you are training Valcere—you want to leave the kingdom with a replica of yourself. What is it you’re afraid to tell me? How am I inferior to Valcere? Do I not have your blood, Father?”

  “Very little of mine, and much of your mother’s. You are a nurturer. Perhaps had I more time, I could prepare you. Or better, the man you chose to marry might have made a fine Luminar, but I am too sick to wait for that now. My days left on this mountain are dwindling.”

  “I may not be the warrior you wish to see on the throne, but Katlel says I have a passionate spirit and an articulate mind. I would protect our people at any cost, just as the rulers in our bloodline have done for half a millennium.”

  “Is it wrong of me to not want my daughter leading armies and dealing with the burden of kingdom politics? Is it wrong of me to want to give her a happier life? A life without the weight of the kingdom on her neck. I want you to marry. I want you to have the family that being a Luminess would deny you.”

  “I have come to terms with what I must surrender in order to lead our people,” she said confidently.

  Her father took in a deep breath as if it were a long draught of wine easing his travails. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

  “There have been many Luminesses before me,” said Meluscia. “Do you think it was easy for them? I have studied with Katlel. I know the histories far better than you, Father. There are twenty-three accounts of Luminesses, and I have read each one. Studied each one. Drawn wisdom and warnings from them. From Tamerald to Monaiella to the very last, Pristina, who your grandmother knew as a child. I am prepared to make this kingdom my husband and its citizens my children.”

  Her father closed his eyes, a grimace wrinkling his lips. His eyes opened. Something burned in them that unnerved her. “You may be capable of handling the hardships unique to Luminess, but I do not trust you to make the choices I want made after I pass.”

  He’d said it. The very thing she feared. The reason he was training Valcere. He wanted a copy of himself put on the throne, and she was not that, nor could she ever pretend to be—not to her father, who knew her too well.

  “You think I would make poor choices for our kingdom?” said Meluscia.

  “I know you better than you think, Mel, and I see too soft of a spirit in you. Sword Master Haruuz says you have no passion behind your movements. A Luminess must lead her armies with tenacity. They must believe in you. See your strength. If the citizens of our kingdom are your children, would you coddle them when instead you should be sending them out to fight and die? Are you a mother who could stomach reports of villages burning, of soldiers dying in battle? King Feaor of the Verdlands threatens us with force and has made trade with us a punishable offense for his citizens. Would you not go to him, desperate to end the bloodshed and create peace?” He let the question dangle there, as if he knew he was close to the truth. “Would your soft heart not become a weakness and make the Hold susceptible to rulers eager to take advantage?”

  Meluscia glared at her father. She felt the sting of truth in what he said, but it was not the full picture. Her father’s stand-off with King Feaor of the Verdlands was intensified by his own thick-headed demands and the raiding parties he sent to steal from the farmlands. Her kingdom held the precious stones and metals so valued by the Verdlands and the two Sea Kingdoms to the north. And only within her kingdom could one find the plentiful forests of pine and oak trees needed for building. It was like the old nursery rhyme she learned as a child. “Trees and rocks are what we got. Milk and cod, have we not.” It was truer than most childhood songs she’d learned. The Sea Kingdoms had the fish and crab meat, while also providing her kingdom with precious trade to the distant lands across the sea. At present, the piles of salted fish carted down from their northern neighbors were the only fare keeping the Blue Mountain Hold from feeling truly desperate. The Verdlands had a stranglehold on them, but as long as the Sea Kingdoms’ catches remained bountiful, they would continue exchanging goods. That dependency and the lack of good farmland within her kingdom was disconcerting. They needed the Verdlands to be an ally once again.

  Her father needed to step on his dignity and pride and twist it into the ground. The Hold had to compromise until it hurt.

  And then the pasturelands of King Feaor’s realm would again be open for trade. Without good food flowing in, the value of precious metals and timber paled in comparison to a hungry stomach. Or was that just because she was tired of salted fish? She knew the Verdlands lack of wood for construction was causing them trouble. And without the metals so rich in her land, how could they forge new tools or weapons? Both kingdoms were growing more desperate, and both had what the other lacked. That could either lead them back to their historical friendship, or it could lead to total war.

  Her father was trying to alleviate the Hold’s problems in the wrong way, pushing their people into the few farmable areas in their land that bordered the Star Garden Realm. The Nightmares that roamed those regions were plaguing every settlement her father built, and slaughtering so many of the brave families who dared farm the land. What once had been the fringes of their territory now felt like a wilderness. And the chaos that had befallen the Star Garden Realm bled like a wound onto every border shared with their kingdom.

  Meluscia stood and looked at her father, not as a daughter to a king, but as a woman who knew she had a better path and would not be abetted. “If you think I would cower to a corrupt leader, then you do not know your own daughter. You may have too much pride to compromise for the good of your own people, and you may have said so many ill words to your perceived enemies that any backing down you do would be a blow to your honor, but I have made no such mistakes. I would not be weak before King Feaor, nor any other ruler. But I would be respectful. I would listen earnestly to their contentions. And most important, I would move our armies from the Verdlands borders to the villages along the borders of the Star Garden Realm. Another outpost was pillaged while you were gone, father. Does it not sicken you to hear it?”

  Her father growled, and turned his head away. She watched his fingers tap an agitated rhythm upon his knee. “What would you do? Rub his shoulders? Speak niceties in his ear while his army comes to cut the Hold’s throat?”

  Meluscia reared up, the back of her neck tingling. “Do you resort to mockery when you speak to King Feaor’s envoys?”

  “Answer my question! What would you do?”

  She froze for a moment. If she told her father her true plan—that she intended to give the unquarried foothills of Pyrrh to the Verdlands as a peace offering, that she would promise to supply the wood and labor to rebuild the farms that had been razed by her father’s soldiers, and that she intended to do all this only asking in return a restored friendship and fair trade between their two kingdoms—if she said all of this, she feared her father wouldn’t give her another moment’s thought.

  Meluscia finally met her father’s waiting glare. “Has the King committed some great evil that I am unaware of? If so, tell me of it. Because the solution seems too simple. Stop the raids. Confess to our wrongs. And give adequate recompense as a gesture of goodwill between kingdoms.”

  “Whether you are Luminess or not, swear to me you will never confess to any wrongs. Every act committed by the Hold is fitting and justified.”

  “Surely we could apologize for the raids and the burning of farmers’ houses?”

  “We are not a kingdom of weaklings!” he growled angrily.

  Meluscia tried to retain a dignified stance, stuffing down her emotions at having her father shout at her over the singers, for all to hear. She nodded slowly. “I’ll never apologize,” she lied. “I promise.”

  “Go on your way,” he said wearily. “I need more time to consider the matter.”

  Meluscia nodded in thanks and turned to go,
then stopped. One last wave of bold words passed from her heart to her head. “I would see our people thrive—have faith in me, Father. Send me as your delegate to King Feaor. Declare me Luminess Imminent, and I will bring peace to the Hold.”

  Her father stared out at the waiting courtiers as if they were not there at all, his eyes like clouded marble, swirling with choices. The way he slumped, hands clutching the side of the throne, he looked almost dead. Only his eyes held life. Meluscia stood there a moment longer, but his face was like a stone statue, unable to see her.

  Chapter Eight

  MELUSCIA

  Meluscia slipped past the large wood doors of the throne room. Her father still wanted the little girl who came and sat on his knee during hearings. Not that the little girl who loved her father didn’t remain in her. She did. But if attaining rule of the kingdom meant she show him only her calluses, then so be it.

  Outside the throne room, the entrance hall glowed with torchlight. Eight soldiers stood casually, leaning against the rock walls or conversing with one of the royal staves. A servant boy was making his rounds, handing out bread, while another boy held a tray with a silver bowl of broth for dipping.

  “There’s always a long line of problems when your father returns from patrol,” said Crocido, a lean, sharp-eyed man who was one of her father’s record keepers. He stood by the door, a pen in hand to log the names and list needs and complaints of those seeking a hearing with the Luminary.

  Meluscia nodded. “May I see them?”

  “Of course.” He handed her his parchments. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Complaints from the outer mountains for more milk and grain. Squabbles between the Luminar’s officials, another breach of your father’s borders. The troubles never end.”