Fury Lingers: Book One of The Foreseen Trilogy

by Ethan Spears

  Ezma laughed again, though it was a defeated sound. “That’s what I thought. I instilled no warm feelings, and though I loved you like a rambunctious little sister, you hardly even liked me.” Though she couldn’t see Mergau, she reacted to the look on Mergau’s face. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m just losing my mind a little bit. Nerves, you know? Look,” she smiled self-consciously, “I know I kind of threw this at you out of nowhere. I’m sorry. But do you know what you must do?”

  “I think I do,” Mergau answered, desperate to talk about anything else.

  “Mergau, how many times have I told you? ‘If you only think you understand—’”

  “‘—you do not understand.’ I remember, mistress. The lizardfolk know all about the rituals needed to kill a god, but they didn’t share it and sent me here instead. I think I’m supposed to find something here, but I don’t know what.”

  Ezma nodded. “The answers are there, but you will never find them in time. I left a note for you in one of the books that explains everything. It’s the yellow-green one on the second lowest shelf, off to the left side. You moved it to the ‘incomprehensible pile’ yesterday, but if you look at page two twelve, you’ll find it.”

  Mergau looked behind her at the bookshelf, then back at Ezma. “You’ve been here? How?”

  “The illusions at the gate held no power over me as a seer, and a simple invisibility spell got me through the second gate. Like you, I’m a distant relative of Hetipa, as is nearly every orc in the western edges of Astran.”

  “Then why am I here? Me coming here was meaningless.”

  “Not meaningless, no, for now you have the support that you and Aoden will find necessary to complete your mission.”

  “To kill a god.”

  “It sounds ridiculous when you say it aloud, but it may happen.”

  Mergau’s looked dumbfounded. “‘May’ happen? After all this, it’s still only ‘may’?”

  Ezma nodded. “Sadly, there are things even I cannot see. Had I tried to witness your confrontation with Kenta, even with my considerable skill, I could have gone blind, perhaps even died. The gods do not take kindly to scrying on them. Jealous, I guess, for it’s a feat even they are incapable of.” Ezma tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps I will use my last breath of life to look ahead to that moment. Might be worth the risk to know for certain before I die.”

  Mergau withered under this new information. “Then this could all have been for nothing?”

  “I’ve given you every opportunity and advantage I could. You have a very real chance of success, but even so, the future beyond that confrontation was never certain. Truthfully, it’s not as likely as I’d prefer, and failure is always possible, but it was the best I could do on such short notice.”

  “So now I’m here and Aoden is out there somewhere and all those people we knew are dead for a ‘maybe.’” Mergau sighed. “I suppose this is exactly what you wanted.”

  Ezma shrugged. “Wanted? No. I never wanted this. But it’s what needed to be done.” Her shoulders sagged. “This wasn’t the only path our lives could’ve taken, you know? About nineteen years ago, when I started getting these visions of Aden being laid to waste, I had little hope I could change anything; it was such a big event, and I was such an insignificant person, working in obscurity for a traveling alchemist of the southern tribes. No one believed what I saw, even when I traveled to Nilriel seeking orders of seers, but you’ve heard that part before. I spent years using my unique powers, powers that had previously been used to help my tribe locate the best new campgrounds for the season, trying to piece together some way to put a stop to this approaching catastrophe. I found nothing for years, only the briefest flashes to let me know that a different future was possible, but I could never grasp those futures, never figure how they came to be, and as nearly half my time was gone, I was beginning to lose hope.

  “And then I met you. I met you in person, in fact.” She seemed to sense the look on Mergau’s face. “You wouldn’t remember. I was passing through Pon Gundruc’s campsite, invisible, because you know how unenlightened our people can be about ‘witches.’ I wasn’t stopping for supplies, trade, or advice, merely looking for more faces whose futures I could delve into, hoping against hope someone’s future would be different. And before you ask: yes, that was what today’s first vision was showing you: the day that was most responsible for the direction your life has taken, arguably for the worse.”

  “Not arguably,” Mergau said coldly.

  “Fair,” said Ezma. “Still, yours was the first I’d found that I could follow any considerable distance towards averting the end of the world. Granted, it wasn’t far at first, and most of those futures ended with you dead. But that vision, of a world surviving, stayed constant; ephemeral, on the brink of nonexistence, but always there. I followed the trail, changing things here and there, seeing what would happen. It seemed perverse to do this with the life of one who was still a child at the time, but I didn’t have much choice. It was either a child or the world. It wasn’t long before I had a solid outline of a plan for you.”

  She paused, running her hand along a glass-fronted cabinet. She moved it slightly to nestle it into its proper place.

  “And then I found another.” She looked at Mergau, her face bitter. “Not Aoden, mind; he came part and parcel in my vision of you as if the universe already knew your paths would be forced to cross. No, it was another person who had the opportunity to be the same catalyst for salvation that you were. This one was human. After her, I found two more orcs. I don’t know if I was becoming more skilled at reading alternate futures or if it was just the hand of fate, but now I had four options to choose from. The orcs, however, I had discovered late. I was already at the point where I had to put my plan to action or risk not acting in time. If I abandoned my plans for you and delved into their futures and found that the opportunity had already past, it would spell doom for this world.”

  She paused again, forcing a deep breath. “The human, however, would’ve worked as well as you.” She looked away. “Actually, she would’ve worked better.” The last of her furniture moved into place behind her with a creak and a whoosh of dissipating magic. The hut descended into silence.

  “What do you mean she would have worked better?” Mergau asked. She doubted she would like the answer.

  “Fewer people would have to die,” Ezma said. “Before you get angry, understand that I would’ve survived as well.” After a moment’s hesitation, she added, “The future with her also seemed ever-so-slightly more certain.”

  Mergau did get angry, but it was a weak anger, one tied to a wound so frequently split open that it didn’t have the potency it once held. “Then why?” she asked.

  Ezma shook her head. “Because of you, you stupid girl.” She gave Mergau a small and embarrassed smile. “I spent so long watching you and working to get you prepared, that I wasn’t ready for…” She exhaled sharply and looked away, squaring her shoulders as if bracing herself. “If I went with the human, I would’ve had to watch you die in the forest with your brother. And you were—”

  “—Like a little sister to you,” Mergau finished. She put her hand on her face. “Ezma, you didn’t. You couldn’t. You’re not that stupid.”

  Ezma nodded. “Mergau, I am many things. I know you only met the strict, authoritarian side, and more than a bit of the actor in me, but I’m far from perfect. In fact, I’m more like you then you’ll ever get to know. I’m not wise. I’m not great at making decisions. I’m more stubborn than you could ever imagine. I wanted you to live, even if it meant you lost much that was important to you, and even if it meant I was going to die as well.” She chuckled. “I’m terrible at making choices like these, but someone had to make them. Maybe it wasn’t for the best, but it’s what I chose and I stuck to it. I’d have to abuse you, alienate you, hurt you and those you cared about, but at least you had a chance to survive.”

  Mergau couldn’t process it all. “W
hy? Why would you care? I hardly even knew you.”

  Ezma met her eyes. “Because I knew you.”

  There was a sharp knock on the door. Ezma gave Mergau a meaningful look. “Now who could this be?” she said, trying for humor, but she was suddenly shivering.

  “Ezma, no, I can’t watch this.”

  “You have to. It’s important. Just remember to retrieve my note when this is all over.” She walked toward the door, took a calming breath, and pulled it open.

  Silhouetted against the setting sun stood Christopher Tabir. He towered well over Ezma’s height, bright green eyes staring at her behind the black hair spilling out from under his wide-brimmed hat. His brown traveling cloak, likely wrapped close around him as he traveled through Astran, now hung loosely off one shoulder. His sharp and homely face twisted as he gave her a toothy smile, though it was tighter than usual.

  “Christopher,” Ezma whispered. She found her own voice hoarse and attempted to clear her throat. “How—”

  “Evening, Ez,” he said, tipping his hat, trying to appear calm and collected, though even he realized that his awkward interruption caused this to fail. His fingers wandered unconsciously across the knife at his belt. He tilted his head toward the road outside. “Looks like you lost your apprentice. I guess that means it’s time.”

  The human stepped quickly over the threshold and closed the door behind him, nervously saying, “The Order sends their regards.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Ezma said shortly. “Let yourself in, why don’t you? What will the neighbors think if they see a human loitering on my front lawn?”

  “What neighbors?” he said, removing his hat. “And what lawn?”

  Ezma gave him a quick smile. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Christopher.”

  He harrumphed. “You know I don’t like that name.”

  “And yet you let me use it anyway, so you can’t complain.”

  Tabir scratched his chin, covered now with several days’ worth of stubble. “So, like I said, I saw your little apprentice on my way in—don’t worry, she didn’t see me. I take it everything went as you predicted.”

  “‘Predicted’ nothing. I foresaw these events, and they all went exactly as I knew they would.”

  “Yet you’re still mad.”

  Ezma blew air from her nose. “Can you tell?” He nodded. “I invite you to try to keep your temper, even when you know what’s coming. Sure, I knew years ago how tonight’s events would play out, even set the gears in motion a few weeks back, but that girl can get under your skin. I swear it’s a special talent of hers. I didn’t even need to use my usual theatrical flair with her tonight because honestly her leaving me in this way was genuinely infuriating.”

  “Not all students can be as wonderful as me,” Tabir said, poking idly around her bookshelf.

  “Don’t touch those. And you may have been less aggravating by a wide margin, but she has talent like you wouldn’t believe. Sure, I nudged her here and there, gave her hints and clues, put her in the perfect situations to teach herself, but if you saw how far she had come along in the short time I had her, you would be astounded. She’s not nearly on our level yet but give her a few more years and she could give anyone in the Order a fair fight.”

  “If she has a few more years,” Christopher grunted, clearly distracted. Ezma tried to catch his eye, but he found something conveniently in the other direction to occupy his attention.

  “Christopher? You’ll be able to do this, won’t you?” she asked. “Because tonight’s events are absolutely essential for the success of our little endeavor.”

  He chuckled bitterly. “Right, our ‘little endeavor.’ Not like the lives of literally everyone I know hinges on this or anything. No, come on, I like that thing,” he complained as she produced a knife and cut off the braid on her head, letting it fall where it will. Her black hair fanned out behind her head, now no longer than her chin.

  “All part of the setup,” she said with forced lightness. “Everything has to be in the right place when they find me. Remember, get word to the guard on the east side—”

  “—at exactly six forty-four,” he finished with her, producing a watch that was a twin to hers as he did so. “We’ve gone over this a hundred times, Ez, and every other letter you sent my way had it in there somewhere. Believe me, the information is burned into my brain forever.”

  “Good,” she said. “That leaves only a few loose ends: anything I left in my room at Kawn goes to the Order; make sure Mrisk gets his amulet back out of my storage; and last but far from least, I have Brendulf’s mirror here for you. You’ll know how to make good use of it.”

  She picked up a mirror—a wall-mounted thing made of polished silver, rimmed with gold, and nearly the size of her whole torso—and held it out to him. He reached for it, placing his own hands over hers. “You know,” he said, meeting her eyes over the mirror, “I wish you’d be honest with me and not put up all this pointless armor. I can feel how bad you’re shaking.”

  He could feel her hand tighten on the mirror. “I’d be insane not to be afraid. I cannot see into the afterlife. I do not know what awaits me there.” He started to move forward but she pushed the mirror into his arms and turned away. “I need to prepare myself.”

  He placed Brendulf’s mirror gently against the wall by the entrance, giving it a long look before turning back to Ezma. She seemed to be staring at something at her side that he couldn’t see, a not unusual thing for a seer to do, but it didn’t feel the same. Her eyes didn’t have the sheen of one viewing distant events. It was more like looking into the past.

  “You know, it was cruel of you to ask me to be here,” he said. “I mean, of everyone you could’ve asked… It didn’t have to be me.”

  She turned to him, looking smaller and weaker than she was. “It’s a dirty business, I know, but I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to be with someone who would make my last moments a comfort.”

  When he opened his mouth, he had intended some humor, but found himself instead saying, “A comfort? That’s some thick irony. You never wanted comfort from me before. You know how I feel about all this, about what we have to do, and about you.”

  She gave him an exasperated look. “You’re not really going to bring this up now, are you?”

  “I’m not going to have another chance, am I?” He stopped fiddling with the various things in her room and met her eye. “Do you remember Geddis?”

  “Lovely town,” she said evasively.

  “You know that’s not what I meant. We were dancing after Mrisk’s wedding, just you and me, whiling the night away—”

  “Oh, my gods, you really are doing this.”

  “I know you felt something that night. I’m not crazy. I felt something between us.”

  “And then you drunkenly told me you loved me.”

  Christopher rubbed his neck. “Maybe that was a little sudden. I’m not exactly a smooth-talker. I didn’t just say it because I was drunk, though.”

  “So, is that what you want to hear right now?” she asked, walking towards him. “You want to know if I ever felt anything towards you? Now? Is this really the appropriate time?” She stood before him with her arms crossed, staring at him with a sad sort of disappointment. He’d felt silly bringing it up, but that look made it infinitely worse.

  “You’re right,” he said, looking down. “You’re always right. I shouldn’t have brought it up now. I’m just being—”

  Her arm snaked around his neck and she pulled his face close to hers. “I suppose this is my last chance, too,” she said, and kissed him.

  She pressed her body into his. With the closeness, he could hear her shaky breath, feel her thundering heart; her body revealed her fear no matter how vehemently she fought it. He had barely gotten his own mouth working when she pulled her lips away, which he tried to follow with his own.

  She stepped back and looked at him. She looked embarrassed now, too.

  “Knowing that tonight was comin
g, I… When you asked me at Geddis how I felt—”

  “Gods damn it, Ez, not now.”

  She looked up into his eyes. “When you asked if I loved you, I lied and said I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

  He felt his own breathing turn ragged. “You picked a hell of a time to let me know.”

  “I’m sorry, but you asked.”

  “Damn it, Ez. We could’ve had time.”

  “Again—”

  “To hell with your damn sorrys!” He pressed his lips together hard, knowing that if they parted, he might lose what little composure he had left.

  She stared at the ground. “I couldn’t let myself be distracted. You know that. I spent nearly every second since I found her to get everything into place, and I needed that time. The Order is still finishing up some of the final preparations, even with years of work behind them, and even I was active until the very end. I wouldn’t have had time for you.”

  Tabir shook his head. “Still had time for that damn wedding,” he grumbled under his breath.

  The two of them fell to silence. There wasn’t anything further to discuss and time was short, but they stood on opposite ends of the hut, looking at everything but each other. After a long moment, Ezma stepped forward.

  “Take care of yourself,” she said. “Everything will work out fine, just… just take care.”

  He swallowed hard. “Don’t worry,” he managed. “I trust you. If you say it’ll work out, everything will work out, right?”

  “Everything will work out,” she repeated, more to herself than him. She let out a great breath and moved to the other side of the room.

  “Shield yourself.”

  Having barely spoken the words, she began her casting. He crafted a shield as quick as he could, a scintillating sphere of green light, just as the first spell started flying. Great spears of ice erupted from her body, fracturing violently against every surface, splintering her furniture and walls, spitting up dirt from the floor, scattering paper and ink. The protective barrier around the hut shattered with a blast of wind.