* * * *
Far from Coe Wina, a man sat alone by the fireside, sipping wine and quietly reading a book. A clock ticked away the minutes and hours as he sighed and flipped over onto another page.
He couldn’t understand everything he read, although he supposed that was the author’s choice to confuse and discomfort the reader as they questioned the material. Occasionally, some details interested him more than others, and he might’ve spent weeks deciphering some of the teased clues, if he felt so inclined.
But other parts just had him shaking his head and pressing on, deciding it wasn’t worth the bother. There was more ahead, and it probably had little or nothing to do with him, his affairs, or his time period.
He paused a moment and stared at the inscription on the next page: The Tiger Prophecy. He frowned at those familiar words, which he’d long ago memorized when he’d first come across this obscure prophecy, embedded in the pages of this baffling book, The Writings of Wintha the Wanderer.
He’d discovered it in the dusty pile of tomes that made up the Royal Library. He’d no idea whether there were other copies that still remained, although he suspected there had to be some remnants elsewhere.
Wintha the Wanderer had been a popular figure in her day over a thousand years ago and there must’ve been a couple hundred copies of her book made, even before the printing press was dreamed of. This book wasn’t an original, couldn’t be more than a century old, but it was as close as one could get to her work so many years later.
Wintha the Wanderer’s words had real staying power, it seemed, a timeless quality as, more often than not, her words seemed to apply towards future scenarios. She couldn’t possibly have forseen these things so long ago, yet he was staring at one of her prophecies that might come true, if events so ran in that direction.
Of course, he was opposed to this potential prophecy. Despite discovering it as a young man, he knew it meant the end of his career as a Follower of Doomba when it’d be the end of Doomba himself.
He couldn’t allow it to come true, yet he admired the quality of the writing, how close her words came to achieving immortality. They’d lasted this long and yet sustained their meaning, value, and exigency. Not even Doomba could say the same.
Doomba was deteriorating. It was a well-known fact amongst his Followers and Servants. Most of the legions of Servants couldn’t march out of the Wastelands without being noticed and heavily opposed, possibly wiped out. So the Servants couldn’t take over Arria on their own without the Followers helping.
All of Doomba’s Followers were in hiding, most of them not in very powerful positions or ineffectual. There were too few Followers to really make an impact. Nothing about Doomba at this time spoke of exigency, emergency, and power to the outside world, not like at the beginning of the Dark Ages.
At the beginning, despite his obsession with getting into Coe Pidaria, Doomba’s forces had been massive and spread across the continent, taking over nearly everything. But the human resistance had been strong enough that it’d outlasted the invasion force, and the Servants of Doomba eventually crept back into the Wastelands.
But the promise of Doomba, while it’d been squandered and remained weak, offered a tantalizing hope to Followers such as himself. The chance to gain power beyond what most earthly institutions could offer and become a master over the earth itself.
Lord Crow, as he was so called amongst other Followers of Doomba, wanted such power, and would do anything to get it. He’d proven that, but the words Wintha the Wanderer had written challenged him.
The words never changed, despite whatever interpretation, translation, or mistake was applied. They remained steadfast while everything else shifted. The mind might misremember, enlarging or belittling certain facets about them, but what remained, after such illusions, delusions, and disillusions were taken away, would at least be intelligible and understandable to those who read and heeded them.
He’d chosen to read and heed these words about the tiger of light and the dragon, and he’d passed them along to Doomba. But now he wished, all these years later, that he hadn’t.
Perhaps, if he’d been smarter, he would’ve kept ‘The Tiger Prophecy’ and The Writings of Wintha the Wanderer a secret, and waited to see the results. That way, Doomba would never have known such a threat existed, and would’ve done nothing to prepare for it.
But Lord Crow shouldn’t wish for that. Perhaps he shouldn’t have read the book, when it’d ruined so many surprises for him and might’ve ruined his life as well.
Perhaps if he hadn’t read the book and passed the message on, he wouldn’t have gotten so wrapped up in oracles and prophecies, obsessed with finding out more about the future and what it meant for him. That way, his family would’ve stayed together, single and whole, not dispersed, fragmented, or dead.
Of course, he would’ve known, done, and gained nothing in the process. Maybe he wouldn’t have become such a powerful Follower of Doomba if he hadn’t discovered ‘The Tiger Prophecy’ and passed it along.
Such loyalty and dedication counted for something, even amongst Doomba and his Followers. Perhaps he might’ve remained a reject, a lowly minion unworthy of notice if he hadn’t so boldly stepped forward with ‘The Tiger Prophecy’ in his possession.
Then he wouldn’t be in the position he was in now, to take control of Doomba’s throne if Doomba was deposed. Of course, that did depend on if ‘The Tiger Prophecy’ proved true, and the tiger deposed of Doomba.
Lord Crow wanted Doomba’s power more than anything else, yet if the words proved true and Doomba was deposed with Lord Crow gaining Doomba’s power, then Lord Crow would be in danger. For if the power, immortality, meaning and exigency of Wintha the Wanderer’s words proved true, then the next prophecy after The Tiger Prophecy might prove to be about him.
There was no escape for him. If the current course of the prophecy held, he’d be the next Doomba.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Courtney Bowen
Courtney Bowen lives in Texas. She fell in love with fantasy fiction at a young age and started writing it as a preteen. She wrote her first version of the Arria series in junior high and high school. She redid the first novel, Knights of Arria, several times in college and extended it across several books. She has also written a handful of short stories in Arria’s universe, a sci-fi short story, the Tarn & Beck series, as well as two poetry and lyrics books.
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