The Last Prophecy

by Russell Loyola Sullivan

  Social order was a prerequisite for humanity’s progress. She recognized her world had evolved from packs to tribes, from tribes to clans, from clans to a social order where the circle included people not directly related to you.

  She was not so naïve as to believe that the majority ruled, or that justice was for all. She understood that the rules and regulations had much to do with the power of who wrote and enforced such rules. Some systematic form of social construct was better than none at all; it was the responsibility of each member of society to focus on leaving behind a better life for those who came after them. Let the social order allow as much of that as possible.

  She watched from the window where he looked up from his work, stared her way for a moment, then turned his back and started down another row.

  He was not a bad man. She wanted to cry. He was such a good man. Could he not see how misguided his actions were?

  She wiped away a tear. Perhaps Simon could help, find out where the last three caretakers had gone. He knew more than he was telling. She would meet with Lord Wallace if she had to. It made no sense for him to do away with the very caretakers he needed.

  She looked down at the flowerbeds. The buds that had slept through the cold season were poking their flowering heads up all along the veranda that stretched along the front of the house. They were still delicate. A few more rains and they would dance in the sunlight.

  Admit it. Their world had changed. Devyn was only doing what he had to do. He was a survivor, and she was first on his survival list. Her partner was doing all of this for love. She had known, of course, that he was not pursuing this as some mission to save himself. Her objections clouded his dedication to her and the incredible force that drove him. This was not the mercenary doing what he needed to do for the coin being offered. This was his very soul being tested to ensure her survival. What was she doing fighting him? She needed to guide him, perhaps. This man was going to move forward with the last breath he might take. She had seen him there once before, and that was not something she wanted to witness again.

  But you could not run away from a problem and assume it was solved. Problems had a way of following you no matter where you went.

  And the consequences—

  She gave a start as he kissed her neck. He touched her shoulder while she stared at the flowers. “You stuck?”

  “Not anymore,” she answered. “Where did you come from?”

  “I wasn’t really working. Look… we need to talk.”

  She kissed his cheek. “How about I prepare us a dinner for around the firepit while you close up the barn and get that fire started? Then we’ll talk.”

  “You just don’t want me spilling any more tea on the kitchen table.”

  “That too.”

  Yes, she would make it right this evening. There was little choice but to move away. Her immediate family had accepted the need to do so. She would meet with other family and friends and convince them they all had to leave.

  She gathered what she needed for dinner. She hummed an old love song as she worked. Yes, tonight she would make it all right. He loved the wild berry pie. She had to use preserves, but he would not care about the difference after his main course of meat marinated in rosemary, vinegar, and goat’s milk, then roasted over the coals at the firepit. She would bury the covered potatoes in sand at the edge of the fire, and the potatoes would bake in their coating of oil and sea salt.

  A special wine tonight, a Sarah Lance sprigling from the Vineyards Expanse, so named for the goddess of the vineyard in any turn of the seasons when a special growth was identified. Her father had given them a small store of bottles when they were wed. This would be the first of those to be opened.

  She peeked outside to where Devyn was lighting the fire.

  Maybe tonight would call for two bottles. She poured two goblets and went to join him. “I thought you might be thirsty.”

  He wiped his sleeve across his forehead. “Thirsty work.” He took the goblet and raised it in a toast. “To a wife who rewards her husband even as he wastes his day talking.”

  She clinked her goblet to his. “Let’s toast my husband’s worthiness; as he spent the day talking about what he deemed most important.”

  He stepped back, almost choking on the sip. “Did I hear you right?”

  She placed her wine on the small table. “Let me get the potatoes. Grab the shovel and bury them for me, please.”

  They settled into their space beside the firepit as the evening brought a change in the direction of the breeze, off to the north now, announcing even warmer weather. The meat was already on the spit, but the potatoes needed a head start, so the spit was not yet at the fire.

  They both looked up at the same time. Shadowless, a bird swooped down and across the firepit, so close that the beat of its wings curled the light rise of smoke off to either side of its flight path. As it passed it let go an ear-piercing scream, so loud that even the goats in the barn could be heard stomping about. It sailed up and perched on a black oak to the left of the barn. It landed on a lower limb, its wings folding as it perched. The hawk then turned to face them.

  “It’s that hawk I saw the other day,” she said.

  “Flame hawk,” Devyn said.

  “Flame hawk? How do you know?”

  “It belongs in the Desperate Lands.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He stood up. “It’s known as ghost flyer. I’ve never seen one here before. Track… Tracker, he knew all about the ghost flyer. He pointed one out to me the night we… we were ambushed. The first I’d ever seen. Tracker told me it was a special bird. He made me kneel and wait until the hawk flew away. Then I saw him the other day with you. It’s what told me our time was limited.”

  “Why didn’t you share that with me?”

  He kept his eyes on the hawk. “You would have thought me crazy.”

  “Ghost flyer?” she asked.

  He looked back at her. “Tracker told me that the ghost flyer is a messenger. If one appeared you were required to kneel and listen, for there would always be a message.”

  “You believe that?”

  “Not sure what I believe.” He looked back to where the hawk perched. “Maybe it’s all folklore.” The hawk screeched another of its piercing screams and flew off into the night.

  They sat back down. She questioned him some more on what he knew about the hawk. He hesitated with each answer, adding that it was all probably silly nonsense of a superstitious people who liked to frighten children.

  She let it go.

  The silence that followed implied that neither of them accepted the arrival of the hawk as a mere coincidence. The fire gave them the time to return to a mood by which their evening could continue as planned.

  Brenna tested the meat while Devyn dug out the potatoes.

  He added more wood to the fire as dinner was being served, the newly excited flames lighting up the evening.

  Another goblet of wine and on to the wild berry pie. By that time the flames had died down, passing the light to the canopy of stars covering the heavens, the stars twinkling as they should on such a perfect night.

  She sat back in her chair and stretched out her legs. “Time for us to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Getting away from here. You’ll never rest until you get me away from here, and I’ll never be happy until I get our family and friends on board.”

  He smiled a broad smile. “This wine’s more potent than I’d assumed.”

  “It’s not the wine—”

  “Joking.”

  He shared the details of the plan Selina, Oran, and he had hatched. He mentioned the names of a few others involved who were already in the process of moving people out. She kept her surprise to herself at how soon the exodus was planned to unfold. “Were my family at least going to say goodbye before they left?”

  “What? Yes, of course. I may… I may have lied a little.”

  “What do you mean lied?”<
br />
  He lowered his head. “I may have told them you wanted them away before you would go.”

  She grabbed the arms of her chair, forbidding herself to leap to her feet. All right, count to ten. Make that twenty.

  “You did what?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She knew there would be no answer. It was too late to argue. What was done was done. She would deal with his one-man decision-making machine another time. “Look. Sometime real soon, we need to talk about how you make decisions for both of us? You know that, don’t you?”

  He raised his head. “You’ve every right to hate me.”

  “You don’t get off that easy, farmer. From here on out, you and me share decisions. Agreed?”

  He nodded.

  “And that starts now. I want to see my family before they leave.”

  He raised his hand. “I’m not that mean. They’ll be here in the morning to say goodbye.”

  “Ah, they were the bait to get me to leave—”

  “No, no, please—”

  “And don’t ‘please’ me. I’m not pleased.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She knew he was far from sorry. At least he had not planned to prove himself a total idiot. “No more wild berry pie for you for a full turn of the seasons.”

  He took another piece of the little that was left on the small table. “All right, but this one is exempted on grounds of having been sliced.”

  “Don’t push it.” She noted the delight on his face as he consumed another piece of pie, unable to discern if his pleasure stemmed from the pie or something else. She decided not to attempt a guess.

  “Give me a piece of that pie.”

  He got up and fed her a small piece. He waited for her to swallow and offered another. “How about some wine to wash it down?”

  “That would be nice.” She accepted the wine, then asked, “What do we do with all the animals?”

  “Taken care of. I mean—”

  “Keep talking.”

  “There are lots of farms looking for restock this time of season, so it was easy to find places for them all.”

  “And ours?”

  “Solick Homer. Unless you think he’s a bad choice.”

  “No, no, Solick and his family are good people. Why aren’t they coming?”

  “He says his father and mother are too old to move. I tried to convince him otherwise, but they have made up their minds.”

  “And when do we leave?” she asked.

  “I was hoping for the day after tomorrow, if that’s all right with you.”

  All right with me. This man is looking hard to go live in that root cellar for a while. She let the silence surround them. The fire had all but gone out. The breeze was no more, and the night had closed in.

  Finally she gave her answer. “It’ll be hard to leave here. We’ll leave the day after tomorrow.”

  He reached for her hand.

  More silence.

  He got up. “Let me put some more wood on the fire.”

  “No. Let it die. This is perhaps our last night here where we might watch the stars.”

  He shook his head. “We’ll sit here again tomorrow night. Perhaps sleep outside.”

  She took his hand again. “We’ll be so busy tomorrow that we’ll be much about sleep when the stars come to visit again. Pour me another wine.”

  They sipped their wine, each taking in all the comfort the night would allow. Neither needed to talk anymore; there would be time enough for that on the road.

  Without warning, Devyn sprang out of his chair. “Torches in the distance. Someone’s coming. I need to get you out of here.”

  “No. It can’t be.”

  He looked behind. “They have us surrounded. They’ve been here all along, waiting for the other riders.”

  A small army of guards were upon them in moments, swords drawn.

  “What do you want on my land? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “We’re here to escort Brenna Gerrick to the temple. She’s been chosen to attend the ritual,” the captain said.

  The lights from the south drew nearer. She saw the devil dance in Devyn’s eyes. Devyn was making some decision. One that would get him killed.

  “Devyn, no. They are only taking me to the temple. My duty is many turns of the sun away.” She turned to face the captain. “May I have a moment to say goodbye to my husband?”

  He nodded. “Be quick about it.”

  The fire in Devyn’s eyes was now ablaze. She took his hand and pulled him aside.

  “That’s far enough,” the captain shouted.

  She stopped and put her arms around his neck. “This is not the time. There are too many,” she whispered.

  “All boys. Had the fireplace a piece of hot wood to handle I would have killed them already.”

  “Shh! Listen. It’s a long way to solstice. We’ll find a way. Get our friends and family to safety. Promise?”

  He leaned into her ear. “I’m coming to get you. Understand?”

  She tried to break away. “No.”

  “And when I do, you must be ready to do what I ask. You agree?” She tried to pull away. He held her close. “Promise me, or I kill them now.”

  She nodded. “I will. I promise.”

  He released his grip.

  “Let’s get going.” The captain moved toward them.

  Another guard came forward with a horse already saddled. He passed her the reins.

  She kissed Devyn deeply. “I love you.”

  He stepped back against the firepit. “Make sure she’s safe. You would not want me coming for you.”

  The captain laughed and spat on the ground.

  “You know where to find me, cow-milker.”

  *****

  Devyn watched as they departed, his wife looking back often until she disappeared into the night. It took every iota of love for his wife to not take Fury and charge after them. Surely they would not kill her immediately; that would be done when she failed to make a prophecy. He had time. There had to be time.

  The loss of the tribe, the river… he had done nothing to save them; he had done nothing to save Brenna.

  So many plans, so much talking, nothing more than dry lightning—of no purpose or consequence. She had been more concerned for his welfare than her own, and all he had done was stand there and bark like a dog on a short chain with no possibility of inflicting damage. The boy under the cart had been no different than the man on the leash.

  He had failed.

  He stood long into the stillness of the night, long after his wife and her guards had disappeared to the south. Even the coals had gone to sleep before he as much as shut an eye.

  Chapter 6

  The Plan

  All of his men and women, save himself and one other, were inside the garrison.

  Those who had agreed to leave, to avoid the repercussions that were sure to come from Wallace, had left. Oran had been the most difficult to convince that those traveling to the Steel Mountains needed someone capable of leadership to lead them. It was not going to be Devyn. Oran had reluctantly accepted the position, warning Devyn not to get himself killed inside the garrison.

  Devyn would do everything possible to avoid that fate. This was no simple mercenary task for coin. He and his people were going into the cage of a most capable foe, with guards and soldiers that outnumbered them better than ten-to-one even before an alarm was sounded.

  Any delay and they would end up with lower odds than a crippled doe being chased by a pack of hungry wolves that had teamed up with a pack of wild dogs—not to mention the special power of the pack leader, Wallace.

  No matter how successfully these happenings unfolded, people were going to die. He was determined to ensure it would not be Brenna, and that meant keeping himself alive until her escape.

  Deciding to take the chalice was at first a choice of what was right; then it became an integral part of his plan, albeit a piece he had added to ensure that Brenna would
do as he directed.

  Brenna would not leave him behind to make her escape unless she believed there was a greater mission—and what greater mission than saving the cup for the people and taking it away from Wallace?

  He refused to consider who would be more upset when all the pieces of his endeavors had time to settle in the aftermath: Brenna or Wallace.