Surviving Prophesy: The Immortals

by Frances Howitt

  As a wizard, he should have had a limited life-span so that eventually he ought simply to cease being a menace. However, he had already far exceeded any other wizard in age and his two hundred plus years of tyranny had still not come to an end.

  Why would he send for her? That blasted prophesy simply said she would end his reign. It was frustratingly vague as to how that was to be achieved. So why then did he presumably want to meet her? The other question occupying her thoughts was what Zacharias might try to do in response. There was no way he could track a flying Mistry unless it flew openly and slowly. Even if he guessed where it was taking her, he could not travel remotely as quickly. On the upside, at least he was safe.

  At nightfall they pulled into the yard of a wayside Inn. It soon became apparent she was not going to be allowed out of the carriage though. Her heart fell, as on inquiring as to how she could relieve herself, she was directed to a chamber pot in the compartment beneath her seat. So much for hoping she could slip away. She watched sullenly as the Mistry opened the carriage door and a human serving maid was able to reach in to retrieve the potty, whilst Megan remained trapped inside.

  Food was then provided, clearly the roast of the day. Whatever was going to happen, she was already at a physical disadvantage, being so heavily pregnant. She needed to maintain her health and strength, for the baby’s sake. She might not be able to send her magic beyond this cage, but within its confines she was still functioning. She could therefore scan her food and water for drugs before consuming them. Finding nothing harmful in the food, she eagerly ate whilst the horses were removed and a new team were hitched up. It seemed only a scant few minutes between the hovering serving girl taking away her empty plate, and them setting off once more. From a rack above her head Megan found a pillow and blanket, and since they seemed determined to travel all through the night, she made herself as comfortable as possible in the lurching vehicle and tried to sleep.

  The carriage jolted her awake and she realised they were stopping. Another Inn greeted her eyes in the early dawn light. She could hardly believe she’d managed to sleep for the majority of the night. The motion of the carriage had reminded her of the rocking chair Schubert had made her and lulled her into sleep. Of course, the burden of the baby on her body required her to rest more than usual, so perhaps it was hardly surprising she had slept.

  It seemed surreal somehow to be returning to the area where she and Zacharias had first met. Whilst they had travelled around a great deal since she’d left the Healer Hall, they had remained in the same country. There was a serious range of mountains separating their small country from its nearest neighbours, but what was a little more problematic, was that the border had closed to refugees years ago. Travelling to the far reaches of the country had felt safe, but now she knew for certain it had not been far enough. All she could do was sit and watch the landscape rush past her window as several monotonous days came and went. The land undulated, sometimes with strings of hills that the road twisted up and through. Large areas of the dominating forest had been cleared for farmland, but much seemed abandoned and overgrown. Slowly the forest was reclaiming the land. Villages were few and far between, but remained little oasis of life, productivity and normalcy.

  The Mistry female remained at a distance, keeping an eye on her but seemingly avoiding conversation. Megan wondered if she was related to the one that she, with the help of the Scritchers, had killed. That, and the callous way the male Mistry had treated Zach, was more than enough to deter her from attempting any friendly overtures. The guardsmen travelling with them also seemed to have been told to keep their distance, so she was left alone with her thoughts.

  Having lived in the area and only travelled when she was blind, she didn’t recognise any of the places or landmarks they passed. She wouldn’t even recognise the Fairfield Healer Hall unless someone pointed it out, or she could go inside and touch it. It was therefore unsurprising, but still a shock to see an ornate castle squatting on a hilltop ahead of them. She realised they were almost there, that this must be their destination.

  The carriage clattered over a drawbridge, and then rumbled over cobbled streets, wending its way speedily up to the top of the castle, passing though several well-guarded gates. It finally lurched to a stop in a small courtyard. The sudden lack of motion almost felt weird. She looked out her windows, trying to compose herself and rein in her fear. Awaiting her was a contingent of uniformed guards, but her gaze was caught by two non-human creatures standing on the courtyard’s high wall. Although they were human sized and had two arms and legs, their faces were feathered, shaped like a raptor’s with large eyes and a curved beak. Large feathered wings rose above their shoulders, folded behind their backs. She had no idea what they might be; whether a naturally occurring creature or something engineered. Whatever they were they had the stance of warriors.

  She shivered as something passed over her and realised it was a spell. A small man stood to one side and dropped his hands; ah, he must be the wizard in charge of securing her prison. Had he just unlocked it? His black eyes were cold and calculating. She wasn’t surprised that Darcourt would keep like minded people. Why was his face familiar though?

  One of the uniforms stepped forward and opened the carriage door. He seemed an ordinary human, although his mind was shielded. He extended a hand graciously and she gladly accepted his aid to step down. She hadn’t been able to walk about or properly stretch her legs in days and she was stiff. Touching him she realised he was not entirely a regular human, although what had been altered about him she didn’t know. At this point she had more important things to worry about. As soon as she was clear of the carriage it rolled away, hurrying out of the already crowded courtyard.

  ‘Welcome to Caerton Castle, Wizard Megan,’ the wizard said, as the clatter of the carriage’s departure lessened, but he didn’t come within reach. ‘I am Wizard Stevens. Bring her,’ he added, with a glance to the guardsman and then strode off quickly.

  She kept hold of the guard’s arm, hoping he wasn’t about to abandon her support. Every eye seemed to be fixed on her and it was distinctly unnerving. She walked beside the guardsmen and felt strength and flexibility returning to her legs. She knew that being a slight woman and exceedingly pregnant, made her look weak and non-threatening. She could use every sympathetic edge. The winged creatures drew her attention again and she noticed they were staring at her intently.

  ‘Lady Wizard, it’s not wise to stare at the Harpies,’ the guardsman told her quietly.

  ‘Why?’ she asked whilst registering the name. Good, a naturally occurring race. From their stance she guessed they still retained their pride, which probably meant they had not been enslaved. She wondered how independent of thought and action they remained however and whether they were here by choice. Both males were tall, but slender. Their bodies were feathered, with striking markings and their fierce faces bore a sharply hooked beak like an eagle. As they shifted under her regard she noticed claws on hands and bare feet, yet they stood like a man. Each wore trousers, but the only other item they wore was a heavy belt from which pouches and knife sheaths hung. She absently wondered why a creature with claws and what appeared to be a viciously sharp beak needed a knife.

  ‘They consider a stare a challenge. Do you want that?’

  ‘Not particularly. I’ve not seen a Harpy before. However, it seems to me that they are the ones doing the challenging.’

  ‘More like eyeing up a tasty snack,’ he responded drily. ‘You would last but a moment.’

  ‘Perhaps, but the fluffy white one is adorable,’ she remarked, well aware that these creatures would have sufficiently sensitive hearing to hear her words if they were listening and they certainly seemed to be watching her intently. She knew from the time she’d spent at the academy that young warrior males were remarkably sensitive to disparagement and would answer any challenge if they could. Nonchalantly referring to such a dignified predatory creature as though he was a fluffy bunny, was sure
to irk him. Sure enough the white one straightened up in surprise and glanced at his companion; yes he’d taken the bait.

  ‘You did not just call a Harpy warrior adorable?’ the guardsman spluttered, aghast. ‘I hope he didn’t hear that. Oh shit,’ he exclaimed as a rush of wind announced that the Harpy had indeed flown down.

  ‘You like dancing with death, little human?’ the Harpy asked, ignoring the guardsman to stare into the female’s eyes. To his surprise she did not scream, or run away. She did not even recoil from his sudden proximity. Instead, she boldly returned his gaze and he knew she was assessing him. Her courage astounded him.

  ‘I have done so often,’ Megan replied. ‘At this place, I shall be doing so at every turn,’ she added quietly and with a small shrug. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘You have the nerve to belittle me and then wish to learn my name? Why?’

  ‘Just curious. I’ve not met one of your kind before and I thought that comment might bring you down,’ she admitted with a half smile.

  He eyed her with surprise and growing amusement, but before he could respond, someone barked an imperious command. The guardsmen snapped to attention and the one escorting Megan tugged her quickly away. ‘Wizard Stevens doesn’t like his father to be kept waiting. You must hurry.’

  That wizard was Darcourt’s son? Damn. Where had she heard that name before? Then she remembered the trial; the wizard behind the attack on Zacharias had been a wizard Stevens. That was where she’d seen his face, in Tony’s projected memory. The evil bastard was still free. The High Wizard had admitted Stevens was beyond their reach, but she’d hoped they’d be able to do something. Megan sighed softly, wishing she had wings and could make a quick exit as the Harpy had done. Her hope of being able to talk to and perhaps gain a sympathiser here had probably just failed because of that interruption. She hoped she’d at least managed to intrigue the Harpy. Whether that would be enough to stir him to give her aid, should any escape opportunities present themselves, she had no idea. In truth she had no idea where his loyalties lay either. She reluctantly turned her attention to what might be about to befall her. Did Lord Darcourt himself await her through those ostentatiously oversized double doors? She abruptly wished the timing of this abduction had been different; she was far too pregnant and cumbersome to do any running or climbing. She had only three weeks remaining before she was due to give birth. She gritted her teeth, refusing to show weakness and continued up the broad flight of steps before her.

  A pair of uniformed guards stood watching her approach up the steps. At least the wizard had already gone inside so she was magically unsupervised for a few precious moments. Then, as she reached the top step the guards turned and took a handle each, slowly dragging open doors a dragon could easily fit through.

  ‘Zach, can you hear me? I’m about to meet Lord Darcourt at Caerton Castle,’ she called mentally. ‘I’ve no idea if I’m reaching you; we’re so far apart,’ she added miserably.

  ‘Meg? Is that really you?’ his voice whispered, hope blossoming in his tone.

  ‘Yes! It’s so good to hear your voice. I only have a minute before I go inside and I’ll be blocked again.’

  ‘Are you OK? What happened? You’re in Caerton Castle?’ he asked quickly and in the way of mental conversation she was able to reply in lightning fast flashes, relieving both their minds.

  ‘I’m at the door now, so can’t speak further. I love you Zach,’ she added and then regretfully cut their connection just before passing through the threshold and the shimmering veil of magic she could see guarding it. She had no idea what the spell had been set to do, but she had no wish to set off alarms by using magic on the way in. Until she knew what she was dealing with or might have to face, she knew she would be wise to ration her strength and magic. Just those few words shared with Zacharias had helped settle her nerves however. She had managed to reassure him she yet lived and had not been taken to a Scritcher hive to be eaten alive. He now knew exactly where she was too. He would come for her. Guessing the shield was going to scan her and aware she was being watched, she repressed the urge to shiver and look back at it as she passed through. Brendon’s advice to show no fear or indeed emotion of any kind, held true more than ever. The doors clanked behind her as they closed, cutting off her escape as well as the bright daylight.

  The hall matched the doors and she disliked the way the scale of the structure was purposely designed to induce awe and emotionally reduce all those entering.

  Her gaze was caught by an ancient and emaciated man sitting in a throne on a raised dais at the other end of the hall, watching her. That was Lord Darcourt? The one everyone had feared for hundreds of years? He looked like today could be his last. The aura of twisted evil exuding from him was palpable however, even from this distance.

  Abruptly he turned his head and issued quiet orders to Wizard Stevens now hovering close behind him. Another man was dragged partially into view and dropped on his knees behind a screen. Megan’s odd sight enabled her to see what was happening however through the thin screen. She noted that the life force aura in the man on the floor was odd. Then she witnessed the flow of his blood exiting his arm via a tube into a jar. She bit her lip, noticing just how much blood was being taken from him. She continued to walk, outwardly maintaining her composure as the man was almost bled dry. She watched closely; a draped cloth might hide the jar from everyone else, but not from her. The jar was placed behind Darcourt, hidden by his throne, and then the stolen blood began to enter his body through a disguised tube in his arm. It was clear both donor and Darcourt had needles embedded in them already, enabling this transfer to take place rapidly and discreetly. She gritted her teeth in fury and watched the wizard grow stronger before her eyes, whilst the life ebbed from the victim.

  That victim, now lying unconscious behind the screen, must be an immortal. She was seeing the reason Darcourt had managed to live far beyond a wizard’s usual life-span. Even as she continued to traverse that ridiculously long hall, Darcourt was transfusing strength into his body. She was appalled and disgusted, particularly since she could do nothing to help the immortal. She realised, that as soon as the man recovered any strength, assuming he recovered this time, it would again be robbed off him. Darcourt’s body was clearly weak and failing. To arrest the degeneration, he needed and would take more than that already weakened immortal could provide and still live.

  She glanced around her in preference to the abomination watching her. A row of carved pillars flanked the wide aisle supporting the roof. All manner of strange inhuman creatures frolicked on them. More disturbing however, were the statues flanking the aisle. The statues were life-sized of many different inhuman creatures. Some were naturally occurring species, others were not.

  She glanced up, feeling an odd aura. In one of the window apertures up high, which served to let light into the otherwise dark hall, she found the two Harpies. They were perched watching her. She wondered what they were doing. Rather than draw more attention to their presence than meeting their eyes already had, she glanced about her and realised the next statue was of a Harpy female. She eyed the statue curiously as she passed it, noticing the stone was exceedingly accurately detailed, even down to some feathers in disarray as though ruffled by the wind. The posture seemed an odd choice for artistry, in that the figure had her hands up defensively and a look of fear had been captured on her face. She glanced up again at the Harpy males, it suddenly occurring to her that they seemed protective of this statue. There were many other roosting spots they could use yet they chose to be crammed together in the window directly above the Harpy statue. They were too far away to ask what their interest was however, so she continued on. She took more notice of the other statues as she passed them and realised that many of the natural creature statues also seemed poised, frozen in some defensive action. Had they once been alive? The thought chilled her. Darcourt was known for his cruelty and callous disregard for other living beings. The lands here had once thronged with a r
ich diversity of beings. No-one really knew what had happened to them, but today, the lands were virtually empty of their native creatures. Most people thought they’d fled Darcourt’s cruel rule, but she now wondered whether that was true. Was this hall full of those he had bested? Were they trophies he kept on display as warning to all those coming to this place? Was this the hold he had over races like the Harpies? Unfortunately, these thoughts were purely conjecture. Besides, even if it was the case, what could she really do?

  The young guardsman whose arm she was still holding shivered and she felt fear coming through his shielded mind. Snatches of thought and images came to her through her hand on his arm and she heard his fears of the Wizard Lord before them. He had made a mistake and his captain had volunteered him for this escort duty as punishment.

  ‘You are beginning to project your fear. He will feel it if you’re not careful,’ she whispered.

  He glanced sideways at the small woman, remembering she was supposed to be a wizard of some strength, but she remained looking ahead as though she hadn’t just warned him. He swallowed nervously and concentrated on calming himself. He glanced at her again and this time she gave a small nod. Relief flooded him although it was tempered with anxiety for this delicate looking and very pregnant woman. He had no clue what his Lord had planned for her, but he knew that his Lord’s plans usually had unpleasant outcomes for the people concerned.

  ‘The Wizard Megan, My Lord,’ he announced officially, then stepped back behind her.

  ‘You are wizard Megan?’ Darcourt queried.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘You’re pregnant.’

  ‘I’m a married woman. This is what usually happens,’ she pointed out. She knew why he was confused, but she’d rather him think that either the sterility spell had failed, or that it was someone else’s baby she carried.