Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing)

by Shannon M Yarnold

  “We are not looking for accommodation,” she smiled disconcertingly, “may we come in?” She walked in boldly anyway and begun to wring her hair, a puddle of water forming around her on the floor. The man stared at them both for a moment, his expression completely surprised, before motioning for Wynn to enter also, closing the door behind them. Wynn stepped in, grateful to be out of the storm, and immediately felt embarrassed at her appearance, for all its ruins the inside of the castle was lavish and very well looked after. Tapestries hung elegantly from every wall, clearly hundreds of years old. Candles of all sizes lined the walls and the whole place was lit richly with the golden light. Where the walls had crumbled, they had been repaired, with – Wynn could smell it and feel it humming through her – magic. Its appearance was deceptive; the walls were stronger than if they had been made completely out of stone by the magic. She tried not to gawp, and to walk with as much grace as she could muster, but her hair was sopping, and her clothes created pools of water as she walked. Wynn glanced at Arabella and found her in the same state, trying to run her fingers through her hair and wringing her clothes. They looked like beggar girls. This is not the first impression I wanted to make, Wynn thought glumly, as she followed their unsought guide through winding corridors and past extravagant rooms.

  They eventually stopped outside an unremarkable door at the end of a corridor, and the man turned to them. “What exactly is your business here?” He asked, his eyes scrutinising them. Wynn studied him back, realising with shock that she could feel nothing from him. He waited for an answer and clearly would not let them enter until they answered his question.

  “We are –” Wynn began but Arabella shot her a warning glance and looked at the man sternly, unmoving.

  “We have business with your leader,” she said curtly and refused to say anything more. Wynn felt Arabella concentrate furiously on the door in front of them so that nothing about her was revealed, Wynn did the same and saw the man realise he would get nothing more from them. He opened the door, ushering them into the room silently. Wynn and Arabella hesitantly stepped inside, scanning the room quickly for any danger. The space was large and had clearly once been the Great Hall, but now it was empty and shrouded in darkness. Wynn marvelled at the contrast compared to the rest of castle, the room was cold, lit only by moonlight which flooded through the gaps in the roof, and torches which lined the walls. Dark shadows marked the corners and in these shadows Wynn could feel three dozen people, watching them.

  “Who are you?” A voice boomed from the darkness. Wynn jumped at the sudden noise; her carefully controlled emotions slipping to fear, but Arabella remained still, undeterred. Wynn felt a sudden rush of pride and jealousy that Arabella could remain calm in such a situation but carefully pulled herself back and hoped that she had managed to reveal nothing. Wynn and Arabella were at a clear disadvantage in this hall.

  “I am Arabella of the Marisot Clan,” Arabella said back, her voice carrying importantly through the vast room, “beside me is Wynn Fillamenth, daughter of Healer Elina Fillamenth.”

  Silence filled the room, an imposing, dangerous silence. A man then walked from the shadows, followed closely by a woman. He had a shaven head, tattoos covered his bare arms and his eyes were almost serpentine. The woman beside him had red curly hair which fell down her back. She wore a tight black dress, and golden bracelets adorned her wrists. Her eyes were large and black and she considered their shaking frames with unmasked contempt.

  As they walked towards them Wynn was able to conclude that both, as well as the man that had shown them here, and the three dozen people in the shadows, had the same ability as Medea for hiding their emotions. She waited for the customary flood of feelings to wash over her but all she could sense was Arabella’s ambivalence beside her. The strangers would certainly be able to feel Arabella and Wynn’s thoughts and emotions clearly and if they were not careful could use it against them.

  “My name is Irik,” the man said, his voice deep, “and this,” he put his arm around the woman and she giggled, “this is Nethali.” The woman began to kiss his neck lovingly and Wynn shuffled her feet awkwardly, unsure where to look. Not only was it awkward that they were witnessing such a tender and private moment between two people, but it was also strange because this was the first time Wynn had seen two people so evidently happy together. In Woodstone most of the women were forced into a relationship and ultimately marriage with the soldiers of the army. They were bitter, fearful pairings. She viewed the partnership curiously, unsure how it made her feel.

  “We have spoken with Widow Medea and she has sent us to you...” Arabella began, undeterred, but instantly froze as Irik’s eyes went as cold and hard as stone. Nethali scowled and bared her teeth. It was a complete contrast to how they had been just a minute ago and Wynn wondered why the mention of Medea had transformed them so.

  “You lie to us,” Irik hissed, his eyes wide with fury. Wynn opened her mouth to argue but the man waved his hand, infusing the action with magic. It happened too quickly for Wynn, she went flying into the wall opposite them, crashing into it, smashing her head against the stone and falling limply to the floor. Arabella caught his intent just in time, years of reading emotions and body language had taught her she was in the presence of a very powerful man in both magic and combat, she had flung up a shield, palms facing the man and protected herself just in time. When the magic passed she glanced back at Wynn, to ascertain she was alive then turned her gaze back to Irik.

  Her eyes narrowed, “We do not lie,” she said frostily, her hands resting on her daggers, a clear warning that anyone could understand.

  The man smiled at her patronisingly, “You think to stab me little girl?” Beside him Nethali giggled at the prospect and stared at Arabella with disdain. Arabella dropped her shoulders, as though in defeat and then moved quicker than a heartbeat – before even her emotions showed her intent – towards the man, kicking Nethali out of the way and moving behind Irik until her daggers were crossed against his throat. Nethali tossed her hair away from her face and looked up at Arabella and Irik, a scowl etched upon her lips. She raised her hand to aid Irik but he motioned for her to relax.

  “You are skilled,” Irik said softly to Arabella, the edge of daggers dug into his throat and he could feel Arabella’s cool determination and indifference to his death, she would kill him if required to protect her friend and would feel no regret. He was in the presence of a killer.

  “Of course I am skilled,” Arabella said tartly, “Widow Medea sent us here across those godforsaken plains and through the forest for one reason, more important than your life and mine; the girl you so effortlessly flung against the wall is the Foreseen and we need you to train her.”

  Irik laughed, “The Foreseen? And she cannot withstand my attack?”

  Arabella raised her knee and dug it into his back, an uncomfortable position for Irik, “She is untrained, but more powerful than you could imagine, are you going to help us? Or am I going to have to slit your throat to persuade the others?”

  Irik nodded quickly and Arabella kicked him away, sheathing her daggers. Irik walked over to Wynn who was unconscious on the floor, bleeding profusely from her split skull. He lifted her up, supporting her head, and ran his hand over the wound, watching it slowly close. Cocking his head the three dozen men and women ran from the shadows, out of the door and were gone.

  Arabella turned to Nethali and opened her mouth to apologise, it was not every day that she assaulted people she had just met. Nethali stood and held up her hand, “You wish to stay here also?”

  Arabella nodded, “If it pleases you, we are both being hunted and I could use this time to train and hone my skills.”

  Nethali smiled at this, “From that display I can reassure you that your skills seem very honed but yes of course you can stay here. While you are here you are safe, there is an ancient magic that protects us here, evil cannot enter. If you had had malevolent intentions towards us you would have been struck dead as
soon as you crossed the outer wall.”

  Arabella nodded gratefully, they were safe, after months of travel and of tragedy they had reached the Seminary of Berhandril. Relief flooded through her and she collapsed with exhaustion.

  ***

  Wynn woke in a soft bed, thick cotton sheets draped over her. She opened her eyes slowly, unaware at first where she was, still half wrapped in her dream, and half pondering the fact that the ground had somehow become extremely comfortable. Stretching leisurely she sat up and blearily looked around her and almost jumped from her skin. She was in a large whitewashed room, her bed pushed right up against the wall, a window above her let golden light flood into the room. In the middle sat a chair, a pair of breeches, a cotton shirt, socks and boots draped over it. Further behind that was a cabinet and dresser and next to that a door.

  Wynn pulled the covers off and saw she was in undergarments that did not belong to her. She grasped the covers again and pulled them over her, as though someone was watching. Where were her clothes? She swallowed and tried to calm down. Someone had undressed her and placed her in bed. Her heart went cold and nausea rose in her stomach. She could not remember anything. Wait... something. They had reached the Seminary, a man with tattoos and a woman with red hair... next thing she knew her head was in searing pain... and she had woken up in this bed. Slowly and cautiously Wynn swung her legs out of bed and walked to the chair. The floor was cool on her bare feet. She dressed quickly, feeling vulnerable, made her bed, then opened the door and poked her head outside. The corridor was deserted; she stepped outside and shut the door behind her.

  She was struck firstly and most importantly by the magnitude of emotions that bombarded her senses. She staggered at the force of it, her hand thrown out to steady herself against the wall. Wynn closed her eyes and took a breath, there were so many people. After a month of near silence, save Arabella and the few weeks with Wolf and her tribe, Wynn had forgotten how overwhelming it was to be so surrounded by the emotions and thoughts of hundreds of people. They spoke all at once and felt all at once but Wynn found after a moment of deep breathing she could push them to the back of her mind, a constant, but quieter noise. They had been asleep, all the students of the Seminary when she had arrived the night before, so the flux had not been there but now the force of them was staggering.

  Wynn, when she was recovered, stood up. She had not realised she had doubled over, and had not realised how flushed she was. She could feel the heat on her cheeks and chest. The corridor was still deserted and Wynn was glad. She did not want anyone to see her so incapacitated over a part of her gift that came naturally to everyone else. Brushing the hair from her face Wynn straightened her shoulders and inspected the castle that was to be her home while she learnt how to truly use her magic.

  It looked old, the stone walls, and a mere glance at them would make the viewer perceive it as such, but if one looked closer, as Wynn was doing now, she could see the veins of magic that ran through the stone and kept it upright and strong. In places the wall had crumbled completely but the magic ensured the weather was kept out and the heat kept in. On the walls great tapestries hung, woven from the finest thread and Wynn viewed them with interest. Oprend had had tapestries, but nothing like this. They were centuries old, that much was clear, but still bright and beautiful. Landscapes, the castle in its former glory all hung proudly on the ruined walls and Wynn could see why some thought it still beautiful.

  The corridor ran both left and right and Wynn had no idea where to go. She listened out for anyone near, the corridor housed a dozen doors which she assumed were bedrooms, but all were empty. Further away she could hear the thoughts of servants and the students as they sat in lessons. The students and professors were further away, on another floor, but the servants were closer and she did not want to meet them. Wynn’s new boots sounded abnormally loud against the stone floor as she walked in the opposite direction.

  She had not gone far when the same man that had shown her and Arabella into the castle the night before turned the corner and spotted her, he was carrying a tray laden with food and his face was surprisingly pleasant. She glanced at him and wondered if he had noticed her, she tried to turn on her heel but he cleared his throat and Wynn turned unwillingly back around.

  “This is for you,” he said, lifting the tray as he spoke.

  “Oh,” Wynn said, feeling foolish. She was unsure whether she was wary of the man or just embarrassed. She eyed the tray and wondered if it was poisoned. Surely they would not have let her sleep and given her spare clothes just to kill her? She smiled weakly at the man and followed him back to her room. He walked in, set the tray on the bed and waited for Wynn to sit beside it. She sat awkwardly, wary of his presence. He smiled encouragingly, seemingly undeterred. She glanced at the food, it looked edible, but her stomach was cold with worry.

  “What’s bothering you?” the man asked, “you look famished! Eat it, it’s good, trust me.”

  Had he felt her emotions? She glanced at him, her eyes darting over his face. She could feel nothing from him, no emotions or thoughts or flame of the gifted but it felt like he had replied to what she had felt not what her face or body language must have been radiating. He was pleasant looking, she decided, his face expectant as he watched her. Wynn picked up the spoon hesitantly, under the watchful gaze of the man, and slowly began to eat. The food was pottage, a soup stew made from oats, sweetened with honey and tasted wonderful to a tongue that had only tasted stale bread, cold meat, fruit and nuts for over two months. Manners forgotten she shovelled it down, having to force herself not to lick the bowl once she was finished.

  The man laughed, “When you are done bring the tray back to the kitchen, take your first left then second right and knock on the door at the end of the corridor. Salina will open it.”

  He smiled again and ducked out of the room. Once Wynn was sure he had gone she licked the bowl and spoon. When the bowl really was clean, she lifted the tray and opened the door with her elbow, having flashbacks of her time at Oprend Manor when she had had to learn to open doors with elbows and knees, and walked into the corridor. It was still empty, the servants were near, in the rooms around her, but all focused on cleaning and none were ready to leave. She rushed down the corridor, only once encountering a person, they ignored her completely and Wynn almost ran down the corridor in her haste not to be spoken to. When she reached the kitchen she took a deep breath and knocked on the door. As promised a woman opened the door and ushered her in. She was young compared to Cook, Wynn mused, with brown hair piled messily on top of her head. She was curvy, dressed in a bright green dress which hugged her flatteringly. She had a thick, broad accent, which seemed to be the accent of Berhandril, a lilt and emphasis in certain words.

  Salina inspected her unashamedly, picking her arms up and prodding her, “Irik mentioned we had two new guests. He did not mention they were as skinny as twigs,” she clucked, letting go of her arm and sauntering over to the sink to finish washing the dishes. The kitchen was small and narrow. A sink sat underneath the window against the wall, in the middle of the room, counters latched onto it either side. To the right was a door which Wynn guessed led outside. To the left of the room were shelves stacked full of herbs, vegetables, dried and fresh, and cured meats. Beside Wynn, in the wall was an unlit fire, over that hung a hook, which could be turned into a spit. Wynn was gladder than she could say that Salina at least did not have the ability to hide her emotions, there was no Magus flame burning deep inside her and her emotions and thoughts screamed to be heard. In relief Wynn surrounded herself in Salina’s feelings, revelling in the normality – or the normality that Wynn knew since she had become a Magus – of her trivial problems; the dirty dish that refused to become clean, the timings of all her meals, endless recipes, curiosity at Wynn’s presence.

  Wynn watched Salina washing the dishes, struck by how unafraid she was. Maybe it was the similarity of the surroundings, and how much Salina reminded her of Cook, but here in this kit
chen she was not scared of the Seminary or of the tattooed man or the woman with red hair. Wynn grinned and offered to help and was confused when Salina laughed and shooed her away, as it the prospect had been absurd. Wynn left the kitchen hesitantly feeling lost again.

  Leaving the kitchen brought back her fears and as she walked through the maze of corridors Wynn pondered what had happened the night before, instinctively feeling the back of her head as she did so. Nothing was there, and she did not know what she had expected to find, but the memory of the pain had not left her. Irik, the man had been called, and Nethali, these strange people who hid their emotions and attacked visitors. She would avoid them and –

  “Wynn!”

  Wynn turned around and found Arabella running towards her. Her black hair fanned out behind her and her tanned skin looked beautifully exotic. Despite herself Wynn felt jealousy flare like a flame inside her.

  “Where have you been?” She panted, as she reached Wynn.

  “Exploring,” Wynn said distractedly, she felt better now Arabella was with her, if they encountered Irik and Nethali Arabella would protect her.

  “What do you remember of last night?” Arabella asked. Wynn glanced at her friend, her face was simmering with happiness, it radiated from Arabella and Wynn felt it wash over her. She remembered nothing but flashes, Irik and Nethali stepping from the shadows frighteningly, then their simultaneous rage and then blinding, white hot pain in her skull. Wynn raised her hand to head again. Arabella’s eyes flickered as she saw the flashes.

  Her mouth turned down at one side, “Not much, of any importance anyway. Come.”

  Arabella grabbed Wynn by the wrist and led her down the corridor. Wynn followed obediently for she trusted Arabella. As they walked she glanced at Arabella’s belt, no weapons were sheathed there, it did not matter to Arabella, she could kill a man with her bare hands and much preferred it to magic, bare hands were undetectable whereas the remnants of magic remained – but for some reason Wynn felt like Arabella’s lack of weapons was a sign that she felt somewhat comfortable and safe here. Arabella stopped outside a door at the end of a corridor and Wynn looked at it, recognising it as the door to the Great Hall, where she had met Irik and Nethali and been attacked.