Rise of the Seer

by Brandon Barr

  But she felt differently. With all her heart, she believed the Makers did care about their creation. The proof of that lay in the Seer gift they had given her. A gift she intended to fully use.

  She believed because of one treasured memory: a single, beautiful encounter that overcame all the doubt and fear. She summoned that memory now, as she had so many times before, needing its promise to sustain her.

  Years before, when she was still only a child, she had fallen asleep in the woods, curled up in a hollow beneath a fallen tree, the pounding rain drumming a soothing melody. When she awoke, it was dark. With the stars hidden behind trees and clouds she couldn’t tell how late it was, but she knew Mother and Father would be out searching for her.

  She ran home, the trail so familiar to her feet that the darkness hardly slowed her. When she reached the river, she could tell by the sound of it that it had risen from the rain. Barely slowing, she jumped down upon the first boulder at the river’s edge, a jump she’d made countless times before. But this time, it was submerged in fast-moving water. The current knocked her legs out from under her, and she fell face-first on the submerged boulder. Her fingers scraped desperately at the rock as she was dragged over it. Somehow, she was able to find a hold.

  The frigid water whipped at her face, stabbing like icicles at her bare skin. She could feel her fingers going numb, the numbness spreading, her muscles burning.

  Desperate for a breath of air, she raised her head. The movement ripped her hands from their hold, and she was tossed into the dark torrent. She was slammed into hidden rocks and tree roots that spun her around. Her head struck a rock, causing lights to flash behind her eyes and leaving her dizzy and disoriented. No matter how hard she fought, her strength was nothing against the power of the current, and she could not reach the surface. Darkness sucked her down into the cold embrace of the river. Finally, she gave up and sank, wanting only death, pleading for it to come quickly.

  And then, the miracle.

  As the last of her life began to leave her, she was suddenly wrapped in a powerful embrace. Arms stronger than the world wrapped around her. The cold, breathless terror faded, replaced by the warmth of those arms, a warmth that seeped deeper and deeper. She found herself sobbing, but her tears were tears of bliss and safety.

  The arms holding her were not human, for they had restored her body so perfectly, it was as if the river had never been and the cold had never touched her bones. What had saved her?

  And then a voice came into her mind.

  I have you, my child.

  The question, who? came instinctively to her mind. But before she could fully form it into who are you? the voice came again:

  You can call me Leaf. I am your Father and Mother. A Maker.

  The words were so strange they sent her thoughts spinning. A Maker? A being as unreachable as the end of the universe? The question her nine-year-old thoughts next turned to were feeble and childish echoes of the question, why me?

  Child, your life carries a heavy load. On your shoulders stand many heroes, and under your feet the life of a Beast. Because you now live, a hundred worlds may yet live. Until we are reunited in the Faraway, I leave you with a call on your life:

  The spirit of a seer will attach to you. It will be a blessing and a curse, but never forget, it is a gift, and it will save more than it will kill.

  The words seared into her mind, like wood touched by a pen of smoldering iron.

  Do not leave me, she pleaded, sensing the warm fire of the Maker’s presence departing.

  I have watched you your whole life. That will never change. Though I go, I will always be present. We are on the other side of every place, so that you can never be unseen or unheard by us. The Faraway is closer than your next breath. That is where we live.

  She felt a warmth on her cheek, as if the Maker’s hand cupped it. Then the Maker was gone. When she opened her eyes, sunlight was pouring down through the trees. Fluttering down in the shafts of light was the blue butterfly that she named Whisper.

  As the warmth of that powerful memory faded, Whisper fluttered up and landed on her shoulder. Winter stood on the boulder staring out at a forest that looked different now. The plants and the rocks had regained their splendor, and the clouded sky above held promise of a calling so large she could not fathom it.

  On your shoulders stand many heroes, and under your feet the life of a Beast.

  She vowed once again to discover what that meant. She vowed to discover how to use her gift and avert the next tragedy, whatever it was. She would act on every vision she had and learn from them.

  You made me a seer. Now help me see what to do.

  Chapter Twelve

  AVEN

  The faint sound of footfalls on the ground above grew louder. Aven looked up, expecting to see his sister's face to peer over the lip of the hole. Winter knew where to find him when he disappeared. He always retreated to the same place when he was in need of solace.

  It was the summons that had driven him here today. He’d been out working early that morning, before Winter had awakened. He was repairing a trellis when one of the Baron’s horsemen rode up and tossed a parchment at his feet. When he opened it, he found a simple—and terrifying—message inside:

  Baron Rhaudius requests the presence of:

  Winter, the farmer, daughter of Amethyst,

  and Aven, the farmer, son of Lynx,

  at the hour of nightfall this evening.

  He had placed the summons on the table for Winter to find, then left. The rest of the morning was spent where he now sat, below ground in Harvest’s former home. Six months ago, he had stumbled from the Baron’s fortress back to this very place to find wisps of smoke and ash rising from the hole. It was morning before it had cooled enough to allow him to enter. There was little left of his loved ones. The heat of the inferno had charred them down to their bones.

  The sight of their corpses still came to Aven most nights in his dreams. His father holding his mother. Harvest’s father embracing his wife and daughter. Over and over he clawed his way up out of the dreams, gasping and crying, the pain fresh all over again.

  He tried to crush the pain by turning his heart into stone. Or as much of it as he could. When the softer part broke free, it was unbearable, the pain powerful enough to make him collapse. His only hope lay in burying the soft parts of his heart under a rockslide of blame and self-recrimination.

  He blamed himself for their deaths. He should have never gone out to meet Harvest that night. He should never have discussed their plans with her out in the open where Rozmin could hear. And most of all, he should never have left Harvest and the others behind. He should never have run to ask the Baron for mercy. He should have stayed to fight. If he’d thrown himself against Rozmin, maybe his father and Gar would have gotten out to help him.

  But most of all, he blamed the Makers. Any beings who created a world as cruel as Loam deserved hatred, not devotion. How could they stand by and do nothing while such monstrous cruelty roamed free?

  Why his sister continued to trust the Makers, he could not fathom.

  Sometimes he imagined sneaking into Winter’s room, taking her tiny blue-winged pet, and crushing it in his hands. He hated the sight of it nestled in her hair as she went about the house, or how she would bring it to the marketplace in its small glass vial. The butterfly never left her presence. It was a constant reminder of the uncaring nature of the Makers.

  Pebbles fell from the lip of earth above Aven. The face that appeared was not Winter’s, but that of a large, bearded man. It was Gray Bear, the biggest man in Plot Eight. His height and broad shoulders were of a size that demanded instant respect. But it was Bear’s undefeatable inner strength and his huge, toothy grin that Aven had come to value. Even now, Aven found himself smiling as Bear grinned heartily at him from above.

  “I found him,” Bear called over his shoulder. “Right where you said he’d be.”

  Aven guessed who Gray Bear was calling to. The
one was never without the other. Bear slid over the rim and lowered himself to the floor.

  Gray Bear turned as a shadow leaped after him, catching the nimble, shapely form in his large hands. He lowered his mate Rabbit to the floor, then kissed the top of her head. Rabbit took in the burnt surroundings with serious eyes.

  Gray Bear held up a piece of parchment. “Did you and Winter get one of these?”

  Aven stood, then took the stiff paper and read it. It was not the same summons as his and Winter’s. Theirs was a call to be at the marketplace on the morning of the next day.

  “Did you not receive one?” asked Gray Bear.

  “Yes, Winter and I did,” said Aven. “But ours is a call for us to go to the fortress this nightfall.”

  Gray Bear whispered something to Rabbit, and she turned and scaled the wall, stopping at the top to look about. After a quick glance around, she nodded to her mate, but stayed where she was.

  “There’s no telling what this is about,” said Gray Bear. “I talked to a dozen farmers this morning. Foxjoy, Old Stump. They all received one.” Bear placed his hand on Aven’s shoulder. “Yours is the only one that is different. Are you going to go? Or are you going to run?”

  Aven took a deep breath. “We’re going.”

  “You’re willing to trust the Baron?”

  Trust wasn’t the right word. Aven knew Gray Bear’s concern was different from his own. Gray Bear’s status among the farmers had risen in recent years, fueled even more by the deaths that took place here, in this home. He was not discreet nor quiet about his feelings toward Baron Rhaudius.

  Aven, on the other hand, had remained silent about the deaths. Inside, he harbored bitterness toward Rhaudius. His stranglehold on the farmers’ lives. His sharp cruelty. But he had no desire to share these feelings. Sometimes, it concerned him how little he felt. There was no fight inside anymore. He’d lived the last six months working with his hands, sweating as his father had, but unlike his father, his passion for freedom didn’t exist. Or if it did, it existed beneath a smoldering heap of ashes. He was alive. Winter was alive. He had to be content in that.

  Bear’s question still hung in the air when Rabbit climbed down from her perch.

  “Winter’s coming.”

  His sister descended quickly into the hovel. He embraced her the moment she jumped free of the wall. The butterfly was nested in her hair.

  Good, thought Aven. He hated when it perched on her face.

  Aven searched Winter’s eyes, looking for fear over the summons. He saw something else there and knew she had again received visions. He cursed inwardly. Her visions led to nothing but suffering.

  He pressed his hand flat against hers, callous to callous, and tapped his fingers lightly against hers. Each segment of a finger and bulge of the palm represented a letter. Quick and exact, he tapped out a message.

  You’ve been having visions again, haven’t you?

  She tapped back, Maybe.

  “What’s going on?” asked Rabbit.

  “They’re telling secrets through their fingers again,” said Gray Bear. “Winter, have you read the summons you and Aven received?”

  “I have.”

  “Did you know your brother has decided to answer it?”

  Winter peered at Aven. He saw the spark of disagreement in her eyes.

  “If the Baron wanted to kill us,” said Aven, “he would have sent Rose and the Watch, not a summons.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he has in mind,” said Winter. “I’m tired of playing his puppet. I think our days of silence need to end. The suffering here in the farmland is too much. It’s time we stop being cowards, Aven, and stand against the brutality.”

  Aven stared at Winter, pain rising up inside him. “Our silence protects us,” he finally burst out. “We’re doing what we can to keep our lives. You know I share your hatred of the Baron, but we’ve agreed about this. There’s no point in throwing away our lives.”

  Winter’s eyes didn’t waver. In them, he saw a glint of sympathy, but it paled in comparison to the fierce resolve fixed upon her face.

  Anger rose up inside him, as did the fear that his sister was on the edge of doing something unalterable. Something he could not fix. The very thought of Winter doing something that might put her life in jeopardy threatened to tear him apart. Deeper than all other fears was the thought of losing his sister. She was all he had left.

  “He’ll kill us,” said Aven in a low voice. “If we don’t answer the summons, he’ll kill us. There’s no other choice.”

  “We wouldn’t let that happen,” said Gray Bear.

  Aven turned and looked up at his hulking friend. He knew what Gray Bear was referring to. He was part of a group of farmers who were outspoken in opposing the Baron, but Aven doubted they had the strength to back Bear’s words. The Watch was full of seasoned fighting men with swords, whereas the farmers had only their fists and tools.

  “You can’t promise that. The Baron would slaughter us all. He’s too powerful.”

  Gray Bear held the impenetrable expression of a boulder. Rabbit came around in front of him and tucked herself against him, resting her head back against his chest. Bear's face softened. His arms came down around her like a pair of protective wings.

  “We’re worried,” Rabbit said. “Bear has spoken out boldly against Rhaudius. If we aren’t prepared to fight, it could go bad for us tomorrow morning when we farmers gather in answer to the summons. Whatever the Baron has planned, we have to be ready.”

  Bear’s eyes were the only part of him that remained soft. “I have no regret about what I’ve said. And I will say what I think of the man to his face. I’m not afraid of dying, so long as I die free. You hide yourself away, Aven, and I do not judge you for this, but there is a rebellion growing. We are tired of being treated like animals. Tomorrow, the Baron may find his neck in the coils of a noose. He doesn’t realize the power we have. Many farmers are ready to take up arms, and if my voice can rouse the rest to action this day, tomorrow will be a day of reckoning.”

  The words sank deep into Aven, stirring his fears. Between the summons and Gray Bear’s plan of action, the future had never felt so uncertain for him and his sister.

  “We all have our fears,” said Aven. “You fear to see your family live under another’s control. I fear to see my family die under mine.” He turned to Winter. “We must answer the summons. To do otherwise is foolishness.”

  “I’m willing to be proved a fool,” said Winter firmly. “He either wants to harm us or use us. I’ll resist him in either case.”

  Aven’s head spun at his sister’s words. “At least hear what the Baron has to say!” he pleaded.

  “No,” she said calmly. “You know I have a calling on my life that goes far beyond this farmland. I’ll not shrink away from it. It’s time for me to be bold. I failed to find courage six months ago. I’ll not let that happen again.”

  Aven cringed. Her words thrust like a knife, cutting deep into his own regrets.

  “Aven,” said Gray Bear, “you and your sister can make a powerful statement to the rest of the farmers.” His big hand found Aven’s shoulder, and he squeezed uncomfortably hard. “You are dear to me, friend. I understand your fears. The choice is not easy.”

  Aven reached up and took hold of Bear’s shoulder with the strongest grip he could manage.

  A hearty smile lit Bear’s face. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  Bear climbed out of the hole and reached back down to help his mate, but Rabbit lingered a moment to whisper in Winter’s ear. Aven watched his sister’s eyes light up at Rabbit’s secret message.

  Rabbit caught Bear’s reaching hand and gave Aven a passing glance, and then she and Bear disappeared over the lip of the hovel.

  Winter rested her head on Aven’s shoulder. “We must be strong,” she said. “We can face this together. Let’s burn the summons. Let’s join Gray Bear and Rabbit and fight with the farmers.”

 
Aven let out an angry breath. “The Makers have stolen you from me.”

  Winter lifted her head, her eyes searching his. “I wish there was a way for you to know them as I do.”

  “Stop,” said Aven. He returned her inquisitive look with a scowl. She should know better than to try and convince him of the goodness of the Makers.

  Winter squeezed his hand. “I want you to have someone to turn to if we are ever pulled apart. If you ever find yourself alone, I want to know that you would embrace their presence. The Maker told me that the Faraway is closer than our next breath. We’re always seen and heard by them. That is a comfort to me, and I want it to be a comfort to you if you ever need it.”

  Aven groaned. “Are you so blinded by your love for them that you can’t see my disgust every time you mention their name?”

  “Aven, please,” his sister began. But he cut her off.

  “You split your devotion between them and me, but I’m the one who’s here for you, not them!”

  Winter’s face flushed. “Is that how you see it? That I’m dividing my loyalty between you and the Makers? You are my twin brother, my family. I will always love you as such.”

  Aven was silent. Hearing the words she spoke made him feel weak, like he was too small to handle her love. But she didn’t realize how much her love for the Makers steered her life. Her choices were born out of her loyalty to them.

  Winter said earnestly, “You have to learn to trust the Makers.”