by R. J. Larson
“He might.” The official was so overbearing that Ela felt Tsir Aun deserved an apology.
Seeming unoffended, the commander-guard spoke to Ela. “I will follow you.” He lowered his voice. “Did you realize that the general was the king’s nearest cousin?”
Ela recalled her vision of Tek Juay, and nodded. “Yes. I knew.”
Now she must face his grieving family.
And the darkness beyond.
8
Hemmed in by their guards, Ela urged Tzana forward in the long, echoing marble corridor. Without warning, Tzana stopped and cautiously bent to touch the golden veins sparkling here and there in the floor. Ela couldn’t blame her. The marble, indeed the whole palace, was so glorious that Ela half believed they’d entered a colossal treasure chest. Every aspect of this passageway dazzled and distracted her. She could only imagine how stunning it must seem to Tzana. However, the guards were almost tripping over the little girl. And tripping was not in any portion of Ela’s vision. “Shall I carry you?” she asked.
“No.” Tzana sat, suddenly stubborn. “I want to look at the floor.”
Ela would have preferred to look at the floor too. Nap on it, actually. This had been such a long day, and she wasn’t looking forward to its apparent end. But duty was duty. She knelt and whispered, “Tzana, I need you to walk with me now. Please.”
“Why?” She sounded as tired and testy as Ela felt, without the fear.
“Because others are waiting for us, and we cannot be rude.” She teasingly offered Tzana her hand. “So help me up.”
“All right.” Tzana stood and smiled as Ela made a show of being helped to her feet—enjoying their make-believe. Pretenses aside, Ela wished she could scoop up Tzana and run away. What would happen to them tonight? The Infinite was present to her, of course, but markedly silent concerning her vision’s inexplicable end, which made Ela suspect she’d rather not know the meaning of that fearful darkness.
“Thank you,” she told her sister. “You’re my favorite helper.”
“Better than Pet?”
“Better than Pet. But don’t tell him. We mustn’t hurt his feelings.”
Standing behind them, Ket made a low, angry noise in his throat. Tsir Aun coughed. Ahead of them, the king’s snooty green-robed representative waited before a tall, gilded door. His eyebrows were lifted higher than Ela could have imagined possible. Even Matron Prill of Parne was outdone by this official’s air of condemnation. Sounding so nasal that Ela wondered if he had a cold, the man intoned, “One does not keep the king waiting.”
“The king is not waiting,” Ela informed him, remembering her vision. “One of your subordinates saw us and told him we are here. He and his family are coming down from their rooms this instant.”
The man looked askance, as if wondering how Ela dared to be so forward. Without another word, he led her, Tzana, and their guards into the room, and motioned them to wait. He departed, his robes aswirl.
“Do I have to be quiet here too?” Tzana demanded.
“Probably,” Ela murmured. She fluffed her sister’s thin, wispy curls. While they waited, she looked around. This was not a large room, but it was as opulent as Parne’s temple, with golden screens and lamps glistening throughout. The temple, however, didn’t have metal mirrors set into the walls. Ela frowned at the nearest ceiling-to-floor mirror.
A brown-skinned apparition with tattered robes, huge dark eyes, and a long black hair braid stared back at her. Was she really so gaunt? And ragged? Ela hadn’t seen her reflection in any fragment of her vision, but why should she? Her appearance was of no consequence compared to the souls of Istgard—and its king. Still, she looked wretched.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor. As her guards stood at attention like statues, Ela turned toward the doorway.
The king, Tek An, entered first, exactly as Ela had seen him. Crownless, unhurried, and stately in green robes and slippers sumptuously edged with gold embroidery. His broad brown face appeared calm, but small wrinkled pouches sagged below his eyes, betraying his weariness. His grief.
An elegant woman trailed behind him, her pale garments whispering, her dark hair pinned high on her head and crowned with jeweled gold flowers and a sheer veil flowing down behind her shoulders like a misted waterfall. The queen. Her son, Tek An’s heir, followed. He was taller than his father, but with the same squared face, rich attire, and lordly bearing.
He eyed Ela, so speculative and intense that if she hadn’t seen this in her vision, she would have been extremely uncomfortable. Instead, she returned his gaze, serene as possible, then looked past him to the person who interested her the most.
Graceful and somber in a soft blue tunic and a gold-hemmed veil, a young noblewoman entered the room. Her dark eyes were reddened and slightly swollen. She’d been crying, of course. Despite being forewarned, Ela’s breath caught with pity at the sight of her.
King Tek An spoke first. “You are Ela of Parne?”
“Yes—a servant of the Infinite.” She exhaled a silent prayer and stepped forward. “If I may, there is something I must return to a member of your family.”
Inscrutable, the king motioned his consent, though he flicked a look at her guards, as if warning them to monitor her every move.
Intentionally slow to avoid alarming anyone, Ela maneuvered the branch between her fingers, then lifted the wide leather baldric from her shoulder, careful to untangle it from Father’s water bag. She folded the baldric against the sword and approached the sad-eyed young noblewoman.
“Tek Lara.” Just saying the girl’s name wrung Ela’s heart. She composed herself and continued. “I am so sorry. I was instructed by the Infinite to remove this sword from your father’s body and bring it to you. I know you recognize it as his.”
Tek Lara nodded faintly. Unshed tears glistened in her dark eyes, but she faced Ela with dignity. Ela wished she had half the young noblewoman’s poise. And courage.
Respectful, Ela said, “Your father, General Tek Juay, was the most honorable man in Istgard. The Infinite regards him as righteous—and now he rests in his Creator’s eternal peace.”
Lara cradled her father’s sword. Tears slid down her cheeks, but she smiled, tremulous. “Thank you, Ela of Parne.”
Ela nodded and backed away. The royal family watched her, evidently astonished that she—a stranger in their land—was able to identify Tek Lara, much less speak of her father’s soul. The king’s tired eyes were now wide, amazed. “You claim to be a servant of Parne’s Infinite?”
“I am His servant.” Ela set the base of the branch on the floor, with a quiet thump that emphasized her point.
“Can it be true?” Tek An surveyed Ela from head to toe. “Has Parne finally cast out another prophet—a girl?”
“So it seems,” Ela agreed, pleased by Tek An’s grasp of history, even if he disparaged the Infinite’s decision to choose a young woman as His prophet. She wasn’t afraid of the king. How could she be? Her first task was to counsel this most unrealistic man. To keep him from destroying himself. To save his dynasty. And his kingdom.
Tek An hesitated, smoothed one hand over his thin beard, then asked, “You are not descended from Eshtmoh, the last prophet?” He sounded a bit worried—a fear Ela understood. Seventy years past, one of his own ancestors had died at the sight of Eshtmoh.
Ela fought down a grim smile. Was her ancestry so important? Half of Parne could claim some blood tie to one of the prophets of old. “My father’s family name—Roeh—bears the designation of an ancient prophet. My mother was invited to become a prophet. But she refused. As far as I know, I am not descended from Eshtmoh.”
Tek An relaxed. Imperious, he waved his family to the only seats in the room, a series of cushioned benches, while he appropriated the single green-tufted chair for himself. He arranged his gleaming robes, then frowned at Ela. “You are not descended from Eshtmoh, but it seems you are doubly descended of other prophets. Perhaps we should be afraid.”
Perhaps? He
was indeed afraid. Ela hoped Tek An’s fear would inspire him to listen to the Infinite’s warnings. To encourage him, she asked, “Are there reasons for your fear?”
“Certainly we have reasons for fear!” Tek An huffed. “To begin, seventy years is an ominous number, is it not? A most telling and fateful number in Istgard.”
On the bench to his right, Tek An’s heir shifted, visibly exasperated by this conversation. His father stilled him with a glance, then faced Ela again. “If you are indeed a prophet, then the death of our most favored cousin cannot be the only reason you were sent to us. Nonetheless we will also discuss what you know of his murder. Tell us plainly, why else are you here?”
Apprehension prickled the hairs on Ela’s scalp. In her hands, the branch exuded heat. “The Infinite has judged your kingdom and your people. Disaster will overtake you and your family—and your kingdom. Unless you change.”
Tek An lowered his chin and glared at her from beneath his thick black eyebrows. “In what way must we change? Istgard is ruled by a just and mighty king!”
“You are wrong,” Ela argued. “Istgard is no longer ruled by a king.”
Tek An’s heir gasped and bounded to his feet, his right hand moving to his left side, clearly seeking a sword. Fortunately he wasn’t wearing one.
Tek An lunged and smacked his son’s arm. “Sit! Do not interrupt us!”
The young man sat, but he glared at Ela. The queen too was offended, her exquisite dark eyes kindled with anger. Tek Lara didn’t move. Seated on her own bench, she stared at her father’s sword.
“Explain this outrage,” Tek An ordered Ela as he settled into his chair again. “How do we no longer rule Istgard?”
Did all kings refer to themselves in plural? Or was Tek An’s opinion of himself so high that he needed plurals to express his views? “Fear and superstition rule Istgard,” Ela said. “Soothsayers and so-called witches play on your terrors of the unknown, for no reason. You lift your souls to little non-gods of wood and stone that preside over useless, cruel sacrifices—all detested by the Infinite, your Creator! He is the only One who can help you—or save your kingdom. But you shun Him.”
“He does not exist!”
“He does. He was once beloved to Istgard,” Ela told the flushed king. “You are a student of history. Seek the Infinite’s name in Istgard’s most ancient writings, and you will find Him. He blessed Istgard’s beginning. Now He decrees its end. Unless you and your people abandon the love of evil.”
The branch glittered now, more radiant than any gold or gems in the room. The mirrors and polished marble surfaces all reflected its light—directly into the faces of the royal family.
Tek An covered his eyes. “Yes! We will consider your warning!”
His sincerity was unmistakable, as was his fear. Ela exhaled. She’d heard him say this in her vision. Why, then, should relief and hope overtake her? Nothing was certain. “Do more than consider,” Ela urged. “Follow the example of Istgard’s first citizens. Love and fear Him.”
The branch’s glow softened, to the royal family’s apparent relief. They squinted toward her now. Lara studied Ela with perfect calm, but the queen uttered an unintelligible exclamation while her son jumped up and fled for the door.
“You have frightened our family.” Tek An straightened and looked around, wary.
Ela refused to be sorry. “The Infinite desires you to see that your kingdom’s survival depends upon your actions.”
The king’s natural feistiness took hold, as he seemed to realize he would not drop dead at her feet. “What actions might you suggest? You are a prophet! Advise us.”
Tek Lara shifted on her bench and she looked away, but not before Ela caught a glimpse of her interest—evident despite her grief.
“Advise you?” Ela asked. “I’ve already advised you, according to the Infinite’s will. Search your heart, O King. Search your country’s most ancient writings. You will find the Infinite and His words. Trust His wisdom, not your own.”
“You will not answer further questions?”
“Of course I will.”
“Then answer us now. What does the Infinite require of us?”
“A contrite heart. And that you love Him with all your might, and all your soul.”
Tek An chuckled at this. “With no love remaining for our family?”
Wonderful that he could be amused in the midst of a dire warning. Ela sighed. “Your heart, if you allow it, O King, has an endless capacity for love of your family, your friends, and strangers. But your love for the Infinite must come first.”
“This is true with you?”
“Yes.” Remembering her soul’s torment when separated from the Infinite, Ela said, “He is my entire reason for existence. Once I heard His voice, I could not endure the thought of living without it.”
The king leaned forward. “Now you truly interest us. How do you know it is the Infinite who speaks?”
Did Tek An believe she was deluded? Most likely. “I know the Infinite’s voice because He tells me everything I don’t want to hear, sends me where I don’t want to go, and asks me to fulfill tasks I consider impossible. Above all, He is forever right.”
“And you always obey Him?”
“With all my heart. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Huh.” The king’s royal fingers tapped restlessly on his royal knees. He sat back, frowned, and abruptly changed the subject. “Tell us what you know of our dear cousin’s death.”
Aware of Tek Lara’s listening silence, Ela said, “He was murdered by one of his commanders. Taun, leader of the raid on Ytar, was reprimanded by the general for his cruelties. He attacked Tek Juay from behind. The general didn’t suffer.”
“How do you know so much?” Tek An peered at Ela intently. “Were you there?”
“In a vision. Yes.”
The king scoffed. “You ask us to believe only a vision?”
“Yes. It is the truth. And because of this truth, Commander Taun tried to kill me.”
“But you killed him instead?”
“I did not kill Commander Taun.” Prepared for this dispute, Ela kept her gaze sternly fixed upon the king’s equally severe stare. “I warned Taun that if he attacked me, the Infinite would remove his life’s breath—which is exactly what happened.”
“You claim all these things because of visions.” Tek An stroked his thin black beard again. “How are we to believe you are not simply a witch?”
“Because everything the Infinite tells me is fulfilled.” A slender thread of a vision unfolded within Ela’s thoughts. Understanding, she said, “And because the Infinite is merciful, you will be allowed an example. This evening, as I was walking into your palace, you sent soldiers to find your cousin’s body.” The king gaped. Ela continued, “General Tek Juay’s body will be exactly where I found it, at the base of a boulder, just beyond Istgard’s limits. Within three days, your men will place his body here, where I stand. You will be notified and when you arrive here, your men will tell you that they were shown their general’s body—its location—in a dream. You will see your cousin’s fatal wound and know I have told you the truth.”
“You cannot possibly say this! Our soldiers will certainly have to scour the borderlands for weeks!”
“Three days. The Infinite declares that you will find your men waiting for you here. All Riyan will grieve for their good general. But they will not grieve for you, their king. Unless you call upon the Infinite and trust Him.”
As he had in her vision, Tek An spluttered his indignation. “You—you predict our death? This is treason! Should we let you walk free from this place?”
“No. You are about to tell me I will be locked up for life in your prison.”
His face went ashen, then brilliant crimson. Exactly the same shade in her vision.
“You were about to say so,” Ela challenged the royal.
The queen shook with such rage that the delicate gold flowers quivered atop her head. “Witch! How dare you . . . cha
rlatan!” Her husband waved her off.
“Yes, Parnian!” Tek An stomped his slippered feet. “What you say is true! You will be locked up for life in our prison!”
“You will become too frightened to keep me here. Even in your prison,” Ela informed him. “Within three months—unless you follow the Infinite—you will devise a way to have me killed.”
“If we do, will we succeed?” Tek An growled.
She replied with silence.
The king fumed. “You have nothing else to say?”
This question she must answer. Rejoiced to answer, in fact. “Indeed I do have more to say. All the slaves sent to you from Ytar must be freed. The Infinite commands it.”
She watched the king rant, roar, and storm from the glittering room.
Precisely as she’d seen in her vision.
Evidently unimpressed by all the turmoil, Tzana had fallen asleep on the marble floor while Ela confronted the king. She scooped up her sister’s limp form, nuzzled her small, softly wrinkled face, and waited as the guards surrounded her. They all radiated disapproval like heat from a furnace.
“You could have walked free!” Tsir Aun scolded Ela as they retraced their path through the palace. “Why did you provoke our king?”
“He provoked himself. I told him the truth.” Ela felt beads of sweat raise over her skin. More trickled down her back and made her shiver. The end of her vision was near.
Infinite?
I am here.
Courage. Ela exhaled, reminding herself she wasn’t going to die. Not yet. Why then had such fear flooded her vision? Holding Tzana and the branch closer, Ela looked up at Tsir Aun. Ashamed of the terror breaking her voice, she said, “Sir, I . . . I warned you, remember? That when things seem well—to you and your men—be ready.”
“I remember,” Tsir Aun answered, sounding coldly displeased. “What of it?”
“It’s near.”
He didn’t reply. Osko was waiting in the grand main entry to the palace, just as Tsir Aun had commanded. As Tsir Aun received Osko’s respectful salutation, the antagonistic soldier, Ket, sidled up to Ela. Gloating, he murmured, “Do you know how glad I will be to see you locked up for the rest of your miserable life?”