The breeze blew again, shifting Arabelle’s vantage point once more. The cloud vanished. The energy vanished. And yet this Aubrey still had her hands on Arabelle’s body, a look of intense concentration on her face. She was tiring, that much was clear—the toll of her work was beginning to show.
Arabelle looked down at her own body and saw it changing. Her bruised wounds changed color, and a sickly yellow fluid erupted from the spots where she’d been infected by the dragon.
The scene flashed white.
“Young Arabelle, Princess of the Imazighen, bearer of many secrets, you can rest assured that your ordeal with the poisoned dragon is over.”
“Seder?”
“Yes. I want you to know that, although your body is rid of the substance that was a piece of Sammael’s essence, your role is not yet over. My plans are only now beginning to unfold.
“Your body is now trained. Given time, your mind will follow. You are key to many things. Just remember that your value rests not in who you are, but how you treat others. Now—rest well, Princess of the Imazighen. You have earned it.”
Arabelle’s eyes fluttered open. She was no longer hovering over the scene, she was looking at it from below.
From her own eyes.
Above her was the exhausted face of the physician, Aubrey. The woman gave Arabelle a tired smile.
“Arabelle!” her father cried. She turned her head and saw tears streaming down his face. “Arabelle, you’re awake! Oh, my poor baby, you have come back to me!”
Arabelle tried to sit up, but the world spun around her, so she lay back down. Aubrey tipped some liquid from a flask into Arabelle’s mouth. She drank a few sips, and a warmth spread through her body.
“Drink it all,” Aubrey urged. “It will help your body restore itself after its ordeal with the poison.”
Arabelle had never cared much for cow’s milk, but she felt the effects of the draught as she drank the warming potion.
Finally Arabelle felt well enough to stand. She waved everyone away—only to realize that most of her dress had been pulled up. With a gasp, she rapidly covered herself before rising to her feet.
Father wrapped her in an embrace, and she welcomed the feel of his strong arms around her.
Then he stepped back and turned to Aubrey. “How is this possible? She was bitten by an adder! None live through such a bite. You gave her no medicine, no incision, and yet here she looks as healthy as she did before she left home.”
Aubrey’s expression was blank, innocent. “I saw no bite. Perhaps you were mistaken.”
“But… but…”
“Instead of questioning what happened, why not simply be thankful that your Arabelle has recovered from an ordeal we should all forget?”
Father stared open-mouthed. Finally, he nodded. “You’re right. I… must have been mistaken. And I owe you a tremendous debt—a debt I am honor-bound to repay. My name is Honfrion, and I represent the interests of this season’s caravan. Anything you need, you must simply ask.”
Gwen’s eyes widened. “Do you mean to tell us that you are Honfrion, the Merchant King?”
Father smiled. “Some have called me that, yes.”
“Well, Merchant King,” Gwen said drily, “it would appear that your horse has abandoned you. Come. We will send the boys to look for it. In the meantime, please join us in the house for food and drink.”
While Father and the women talked, Arabelle ate a snack and relaxed, letting her body recover. She was surprised at how loose she felt now that the poison was gone from her body. All of her motions felt much smoother. It was as though her joints had all been lubricated. She wondered how this would affect her exercises.
Then it dawned on her. I don’t have to exercise anymore. I don’t have to wake each night to prevent my muscles from being paralyzed.
But even as the thought struck her, another took its place.
I don’t want to lose these muscles, these skills. I can’t let myself lose them.
At that moment the main farmhouse door was thrown open and Tabor charged in, his eyes frantic.
“Tabor!” Father exclaimed. “Calm down, my friend. Everything is all right.”
“Sheikh, my apologies, but your disappearance, and the disappearance of the princess…”
Father raised his hand. “I’m sorry to have worried you. Today has been a very… unusual day.” He turned to Gwen. “Please forgive my guard for entering like that. He’s worried for us, that’s all.”
Gwen nodded. “I understand. Tabor, is it? Would you care for a refreshment?”
Tabor shook his head solemnly. “Thank you, Lady of the Protector…”
“Call me Gwen.”
“Thank you, but I cannot partake.”
Tabor withdrew a cloth-wrapped package from his tunic and handed it to Arabelle. “Princess, as I tracked the whereabouts of my lost Sheikh and his daughter, a very unusual man walked out of the forest and handed this to me. He gave his name as Castien. If I didn’t know better, I would say he was an elf.”
Arabelle unwrapped the package and gasped.
My mother’s daggers!
With all that had happened, she hadn’t even realized they were missing. But they were still coated in dirt and gore, so she quickly rewrapped them before anyone else could see. “Thank you, Tabor.”
She was afraid there would be questions from both Tabor and her father. What is in the cloth? What do you know of this mysterious elf? Why is he sending you packages? But Tabor mercifully forestalled any such questions by turning to the Sheikh.
“Sheikh, this Castien had a message for you as well.”
Father raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“First, it seems that the injury given to Khalid was done by a giant enforcer with yellow eyes.”
“Kirag.”
“I can only presume so. Castien reports him dead. In his words, ‘The forest has claimed him as its own. This minion of Azazel no longer lives.’”
“I cannot say I mourn his loss, though the consequences of this may be dire.”
“I share your concerns, Sheikh. There is one other thing. Castien made a point of mentioning that our princess is welcome to visit his people in the woods at any time she wishes. Especially since, again in his own words,” he looked meaningfully at Arabelle, “‘she already knows the way.’”
Arabelle looked down at her lap, but felt the stares of everyone in the room. Oh, yes. There would be questions.
“Sheikh,” Tabor continued, “one more thing. Khalid was injured in pursuit of our princess. My men have taken him back to our people to address a slash across his legs and a bump on the head. With your permission…”
Father clamped his hand on Tabor’s shoulder. “Of course, go. Make certain that he’s well. I know how much your only son means to you.”
As Tabor banged his fist against his chest in salute and departed, Arabelle felt her mouth drop open, and had to forcefully shut it. Khalid is Tabor’s son? How did I not know that?
While Father talked further with Aubrey, Gwen escorted Arabelle to the kitchen to clean up. The truth was, Arabelle was far cleaner than she had any reason to be. She had managed to avoid the blood spray from the enforcer she had killed; she was merely a bit muddy from having fallen in the woods.
But it seemed that wasn’t Gwen’s real reason for leading her to a washbasin. She smiled and whispered, “I thought you might want to wash those daggers.”
Arabelle’s eyes widened. “You saw?”
“Fear not, I believe I am the only one who did. I saw no reaction from your father, if that is your concern. A princess with daggers… now I’ve seen it all.”
If she only knew how un-princesslike I’ve been.
Gwen left her alone to her ablutions. When her daggers were clean and dry and re-sheathed, and she had tidied her face and hands and was feeling like herself once more, she returned to the other room.
Father was ready to go; it seemed Logan had been found. Arabelle hugged both Gwe
n and Aubrey, and it was only then that it struck her—she recognized the brown-haired woman too. How had she not realized from the start?
This is the blue-eyed boy’s mother!
She wanted to say something, but she was so stunned that her words got stuck in her throat, and the next thing she knew, her father had led her out the door… to an even bigger surprise.
A tall, lanky teenaged boy was leading Logan toward the house.
It’s him.
Arabelle felt the heat rushing to her cheeks as her father took the reins from the boy and handed him a coin for his troubles. She’d dreamed of this boy for what seemed like forever, and now she was actually looking into his brilliant blue eyes and he was gazing back into hers. She could lose herself in that gaze.
A smaller boy stood next to him—the younger brother. He tugged on his older brother’s sleeve, but the blue-eyed boy didn’t tear his eyes away from Arabelle.
“Well,” Father said to Arabelle, clearing his throat. “Shall we?”
Arabelle realized she’d been staring, and her blush only grew. “Of course, Father.”
They both mounted Logan, and Arabelle turned away to hide her burning cheeks.
Father nodded to the boy. “I appreciate your help in finding my horse. Give your mother my thanks again. And remind them that Honfrion owes them a great debt that he intends to repay. They just have to name it.”
And with that, they began trotting back toward the caravan.
Arabelle twisted in the saddle to take one last look at the boy. He, too, had turned to watch them depart.
Arabelle sighed and leaned back against her father’s chest. “Father… that boy who found our horse. The older one you gave the coin to?”
“Yes, dearest?”
She breathed in deeply, gathering her courage.
“I had a vision about him.”
“Oh?”
“He’s the boy I’m going to marry.”
Author’s Note
Well, that’s the end of Agent of Prophecy, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed it.
I should note that when I wrote this story, years ago, I never intended for it to really be published. You see, I’m a stuffy science researcher type and I don’t go around talking about dwarves, elves, dragons, magic, and such. I just don’t. The origins of this story really began because as a relatively younger father of two boys, I would come up with bedtime stories for them.
After a while, the details of the story began getting jumbled in my head, so I began writing things down. And the stories grew in complexity. It became a saga to entertain what at the time were seven and eight-year-old boys. And when I was done, those stories remained in my desk drawer for a long time.
But along the way, something had happened to me. I’d gotten the writing bug.
I learned that I enjoyed the process of creating stories, and because I can’t leave well enough alone, I began thinking about maybe writing something for myself.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy epic fantasy, and grew up on Tolkien, Eddings, and various other authors who set me on the path, but I equally enjoyed Crichton, Asimov, Grisham, and many others in genres that dealt more with action and adventure.
I’d made friends with some rather well-known authors, and when I talked about maybe getting more serious about this writing thing, several of them gave me the same advice, “Write what you know.”
Write what I know? I began to think about Michael Crichton. He was a non-practicing MD, and started off with a medical thriller. John Grisham was an attorney for a decade before writing a series of legal thrillers. Maybe there’s something to that advice.
I began to ponder, “What do I know?” And then it hit me.
I know science. It’s what I do for a living and what I enjoy reading nowadays. In fact, one of my hobbies is reading formal papers spanning many scientific disciplines. My interests range from particle physics, computers, the military sciences (you know, the science behind what makes stuff go boom), and medicine. I’m admittedly a bit of a nerd in that way. I’ve also traveled extensively during my life, and am an informal student of foreign languages and cultures.
With the advice of some New York Times bestselling authors, I started my foray into writing novels.
And then the unexpected happened.
People began reading them!
And then I hit a national bestseller list or two.
This hobby had suddenly become something a bit more than I’d expected.
And even though I’m not, strictly-speaking, a full-time author, by the end of this year, I should have over twenty books out in a relatively short period of time.
Those bedtime stories had turned into something much more than I’d ever imagined.
And then I opened that drawer where everything started.
The musty and yellowed sheets of printed paper I’d set aside long ago, I began reading those stories and cringing.
I am so much better than I was back then. Somehow or another, I’d picked up some skills and instincts that hadn’t been there a decade earlier.
I thought to myself, “Maybe it’s time for me to see if I can make something of those old stories?”
After reading the work I’d done long ago, I realized the stories were still quite solid. It was the prose I was uncomfortable with, and the ages of the main characters needing to be tweaked, but it probably wouldn’t be too bad to revamp the old stories and bring them to the public.
Decent book covers, proper editing, audio books, the whole shebang.
And here we are, dear reader.
I’m assuming if you’re reading these words, that you hopefully enjoyed the story. If this is the first book of mine you’ve read, then let me explain a few things about what you’ll always see in my books.
There is always an author’s note to the reader. That’s the section you’re currently reading, and this is where I talk to you directly about what I do, who I am, and why I do it.
I did want to talk a bit about my contract with you, the reader.
I write to entertain.
That truly is my first and primary goal. Because, for most people, that’s what readers typically want out of a novel.
That’s certainly what I always wanted. Story first, always.
In this particular story, I dive deeply into a fantasy world that doesn’t necessarily have a strong correlation to the science of our world, but this is a four-book series, and trust me, there is some science coming in the upcoming books that is real and does apply.
You’ll find that in this series I do what everyone says I shouldn’t: I cross the streams between science fiction and fantasy.
Some have called my past writing choices eclectic, unexpected, but the vast majority of feedback I’ve received to date has thankfully been positive. So, thank you to those who have been readers of my other books. Posting reviews is, of course, the easiest way to let me and others know what you thought of this novel or any of my work. Word of mouth is precious to us poor authors.
However, even though I enjoy writing about events, history, science, and now dipping my toe into fantasy, my primary goal always circles back to entertaining.
As always, at the end of this book, I have an addendum where I cover certain details regarding the creation of this novel, the research that went into it, and of course, I go into the science and technology—mostly because I can’t help myself.
I do hope you enjoyed this story, and I hope you’ll continue to join me in the future stories yet to come.
Mike Rothman
April 2, 2020
If you enjoyed this story, I should let you know there is more where this came from. Book two, Heirs of Prophecy, picks up where this story leaves off. If you wanted to know about that blue-eyed boy, his family, and how they come into this new world to finally meet and interact with a whole new cast of characters, including Arabelle, this should hopefully be a treat.
I include a preview of the first chapter of the next book, but be
fore I do that, if you’re a fan of the fantasy genre, and have enjoyed this story, I should also point out that, aside from this series, I do have one other book (as of now) in the fantasy genre. It also features a seventeen-year-old girl who…
Well, if you’ll indulge me, below is a brief description of Dispocalypse:
In a post-apocalyptic world ruled by a governor who is both feared and worshipped, Willow is a seventeen-year-old girl who is trying to get through her last year of studies. But when her father dies, she experiences strange dreams that change everything about how she looks at the world and at herself.
Haunted by the tragedy, Willow pushes herself beyond anything she could have imagined she was capable of. It's only when she catches the attention of some of the governor's informants that her world is turned upside-down
Preview of Heirs of Prophecy
Ryan’s heart raced as the radiating arcs of white energy crackled between his fingertips. He felt the heat on his face as the prickling energy bloomed even brighter.
None of this made sense. There had been an earthquake, and a bright flash of light. An explosion? Then he and his family had found themselves on the edge of a swamp in an unknown land—not at all where they’d been moments before.
And now this. His fingers…
He looked to his father, whose blue eyes matched his own, and saw only fear there. Dad was as lost as the rest of them. But one thing was clear.
This was definitely not the vacation Dad had planned when they left home just twelve hours earlier…
As Ryan Riverton shoved the last of his clothes into his suitcase, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so excited. Today his family would be leaving for their first summer vacation in years. And a long one, too—two whole months. Dad was an engineer for a major manufacturing company, and had been saving up his vacation time for years.
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