Prophet (Books of the Infinite Book #1)

by R. J. Larson

  “Seven? It seems your countrymen are well informed, as always.”

  “You, there!” Tsir Aun’s deep, authoritative voice beckoned Ela’s guard. “Call your companions to prepare tonight’s waste area, and be sure they use it properly.”

  “Yes, sir. With permission to ask, sir, what about my prisoner?”

  Tsir Aun neared. “I’ll keep watch over her for now. March!”

  “Thank you,” Ela murmured as her guard hurried away.

  “He will be reassigned. I saw what was happening.” Tsir Aun scowled, still watching the guard and his companions as they grabbed several picks and shovels. “It’s understandable if they regard you as an enemy—”

  “Oh, perfectly understandable!”

  “However,” Tsir Aun continued as if Ela had said nothing, “they need to treat you with more respect.”

  Shamed, Ela sighed. “If all Istgardians were as honorable as you, sir, we wouldn’t be marching toward this futile battle now.”

  “Will it be futile?” The crown commander neared, his words hushed. “Can you tell me?”

  “You’ll survive. Few Istgardians will.”

  “What about you?”

  His kindness almost made her cry. Ela shook her head. “Everything I’ve seen can only be explained by my death.” Before he could ask another question, she said, “I’d like to groom Pet properly before the battle. While the soup simmers, would you mind showing me?”

  “I suppose I could offer months worth of training in a few words. First, you ought to start by giving him a more dignified, battle-worthy name.”

  Ela chuckled. “You’ll have to argue with Tzana over his name—I had nothing to do with it. What did Commander Taun call him?”

  “Scythe. In battle, your destroyer cuts down everything in his path.”

  “I can imagine.” More than imagine, unfortunately. Ela almost cringed, catching a new glimpse of Pet—Scythe—tearing through a bloodied battlefield, enraged as his rider. Ela gasped. Infinite? When would this battle take place? Obviously it hadn’t happened yet, but . . .

  Tsir Aun disrupted her thoughts, and the unsettling vision. “Listen. I might not have time to repeat myself.” Removing combs, picks, nubby rags, tufts of bristles, and wooden flasks from Ela’s supply pack, the crown commander talked rapidly. “When grooming a destroyer—or any horse—work down and around. Head to hooves. Also, check his teeth several times a year. Pledged masters are the only ones allowed that privilege.”

  Ela cringed. “No one’s been tending his teeth?”

  “No. But he’s young and isn’t dropping his food or losing weight, so I’m sure he’s well. If he stops eating, that means he needs a brave physician or someone to tend his mouth. And the pledged master holds him still during any surgeries.” Tsir Aun handed Ela a wooden vial. “This oil untangles his mane and tail. Use it sparingly.”

  Ela armed herself with a comb and eyed Pet’s mane and impossibly high back. Tsir Aun grinned. “It would help if you were taller.”

  “It would help if he would help.” Ela leaned against her destroyer. “Pet, can you sit, or kneel, or lie down, or something?”

  The destroyer sniffed, as if offended by her question. Almost haughty, he knelt, then settled onto the grass. Ela laughed. “You rogue! Why didn’t you show me this trick before?”

  Under Tsir Aun’s direction, she oiled, rubbed, brushed, and combed the big horse until his neck and back shone in the deepening dusk. His tail was wildly knotted—particularly underneath. A lesson in patience, Ela decided as she worked out the tangles. She ordered him to stand, then brushed his sides and smoothed his legs with a liniment. Ela finished by rubbing him with a damp, nubby cloth.

  “Check his teeth,” Tsir Aun prompted. “Slide your thumb into a corner of his mouth in the gap between his teeth and push up. When he opens his mouth, grab his tongue and pull it to one side.”

  “Grab his tongue? Are you sure?”

  The crown commander lifted an eyebrow. Undoubtedly sure.

  Ela stifled her fears and faced Pet. “Don’t you dare bite me. And no burping.”

  Pet plainly disliked the procedure as much as Ela, but endured it, his raspy-wet tongue lolling. Amused, Tsir Aun asked, “Are any animals, trees, or human limbs stuck between his teeth?”

  Unamused, Ela studied her destroyer’s gleaming teeth, then let him draw in his tongue and close his mouth. “No. There aren’t.” Remembering Pet . . . Scythe . . . in his future battle, and the glimpse of her own lifeless body, she asked, “Will he obey someone else? If I tell him to?”

  “Yes, but he won’t be happy. His purpose is to tend you for as long as you live.”

  “What if I’ve died?”

  “Then, if he survives your death, he will pledge to another master. Particularly one you’ve previously commanded him to obey.”

  “Or perhaps the Infinite will command him to obey—” She stopped herself.

  Tsir Aun frowned at her. “Do you truly expect to die soon?”

  “Yes. Now . . . how can I command him to obey someone else?”

  “You grab his muzzle, turn him to see the prospective pledge, and command him to obey that person.”

  “That’s all? Simply ‘Obey’?”

  “Obey. And be stern.” The crown commander stepped nearer. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  “Pray to the Infinite for your own safety—and for Istgard.”

  He allowed her a trace of a smile. “I have. And I will.”

  There wasn’t a hint of ridicule in his expression. He’d spoken the truth. Infinite, thank You! She almost dropped to the ground in relief.

  As if he’d said too much, Tsir Aun cleared his throat. “The king will be expecting my report. By now he’s heard about the scalns.”

  “The king will be irritated to know we’ve survived,” Ela said. “But that reminds me . . .” A glimpse of the upcoming conflict between Istgard and the Tracelands resurfaced, stopping her midsentence. Tsir Aun must think she was addled.

  The crown commander frowned. “Yes?”

  “When the battle begins, you must stay with your countrymen. Fight for the king and the heir until the very last. Do not cross over to join the Tracelanders.”

  He stared. “Why would I do such a thing? I’m no traitor!”

  “Trust me, sir. You’ll be tempted. But the Infinite wills that you fight for Istgard.”

  Silent, the commander bowed his head and departed, clearly upset.

  He would understand later. And forgive her. Even so, she ached as if she’d lost a friend.

  By now, Pet was nuzzling Tzana, waking her. Their food was ready.

  Insulted or not, Tsir Aun kept his word and reassigned her abusive guard to other duties, replacing the man with the recently promoted Commander Tal. Obviously pleased with his new status, and respectful of Ela, Tal greeted her with a smile. “Give me and my men your word that you won’t try to escape, and we’ll leave you unbound for tonight.”

  “I give you my word. Anyway, why should I run? My work here isn’t finished.”

  While his men prepared for watch duty, Tal dropped his gear and unrolled his sleeping quilt, seeming satisfied to sleep beneath the stars, near the fire. He yawned, stretched out, and shut his eyes. “Tell me about the scalns.”

  She’d rather not. But at least he would hear the truth and, perhaps, discern the Infinite’s will. Before she’d finished, though, Tal was snoring. Ela nestled on her bedroll beside Tzana, and they looked for images in the fire until they both dozed off.

  The flames had dwindled to glowing coals when Ela awoke. Myriad insects chirped and rasped in the darkness, a vibrant, unstructured chorus. Had she actually slept through all this noise? Moving gently, she placed several pieces of wood on the coals and checked Tzana and Pet. Both sound asleep, and both on their sides. Satisfied that she hadn’t awakened them—or the exhausted guards—Ela slung her water bag over one shoulder and crept toward their camp’s designated latrine area. Merciful
ly, the narrow privy trench was shadowed.

  Finished with her duty, she splashed water over her hands and dried them. Instead of returning to the fire, she lingered near the trees and gazed up at the nighttime sky. If she weren’t a prisoner on her way to a bloody battle—and her own death—she might enjoy being here. Apart from the scalns, this river valley was a lovely place. Greener than Istgard or Parne, with tall, lush trees. Beautiful. Yet the sky was the same. Ela stared up at the stars, blessing their Creator.

  Muffled footsteps sounded behind her. Before Ela could turn, two large hands clamped over her nose, mouth, and throat in a murderous grip. After trying to scream, she simply fought to breathe.

  18

  Infinite! Please . . .

  Ela struggled to pry her assailant’s huge hands from her nose, mouth, and neck. But his grip tightened, particularly along the sides of her throat, making the blood pound in her temples. Her senses darkened. Faded. Just as she felt herself sliding into unconsciousness, her attacker gasped and let her fall. Ela tumbled into the grass, too overcome to prevent herself from rolling.

  As she sucked in air, thuds pulsed through Ela’s head. And through the soil. Massive dark hooves charged past Ela’s dim line of vision. Bleary, she tried to concentrate. Pet?

  No. Not Pet. Scythe charged her would-be murderer. Stomping him. Ela shook off her disorientation and tried to lift her head. She heard snaps, like twigs. Her attacker screamed. Then hushed. Still in a fury, the destroyer grasped the man’s limp form between his teeth, flung him aside, and trampled him again.

  Ela propped herself on one elbow and managed a whispered plea. “Pet! Scythe . . . Stop!”

  Though her voice sounded pitifully weak, the destroyer heard. He left his target and nudged Ela, as if urging her to her feet. She couldn’t stand. But she stroked his face. “Thank you.”

  Vertigo washed over Ela, and she retched into the grass. Pet snuffled at her, then whickered. By now, the guards were running toward them, calling, “Who is there? Identify yourself!”

  Pet whickered again, mournful. Apparently encouraged by his gentle tone, the guards approached Ela, their swords drawn. One of the guards cursed. “It is the girl. We’re gonna be punished—lettin’ her escape.”

  Disgusted, Ela spat to clear her mouth. Her voice emerged as a feeble, painful squeak. “I didn’t escape. I used the latrine.”

  “Step back!” Commander Tal ordered the foul-mouthed guard. Tal kneeled beside Ela. “What’s happened?”

  Ela tried to push her voice above the raw whisper. “I was half strangled.”

  “By whom?”

  Giving up, Ela gestured toward her assailant’s shadowed, trampled form. The man hadn’t moved. Hadn’t survived. Pet killed him. For her. A horrifying, ghastly thought. Sobs worked up through Ela’s bruised throat. Her weakness apparently worried Pet enough that he nuzzled Tal.

  The soldier sighed. “Can’t you two make it through one week without causing disaster?”

  “I’m n-not the one who tried to strangle me,” Ela protested, fighting tears. The top of her head felt as if it might explode.

  Without asking permission, Tal scooped up Ela and stood. She hoped she wouldn’t be sick again—the helpful commander would bear the brunt of her illness. Tal’s subordinates were inspecting her assailant’s body. “Stone-dead,” one of them announced.

  “Bring his body to the fire, and expect an interrogation,” their commander ordered.

  “No,” Ela pleaded in a thready whisper. “Tzana will see his body.”

  Unmoved, Tal said, “She can cover her eyes.”

  Heartless man! To be fair, Tal was handling her cautiously. Most Istgardians would have regretted Ela’s survival. But perhaps Tal’s caution was due to his fear of Pet, who lurked behind them. Ela could feel her destroyer’s breath against her arm, saturating her tunic’s sleeve.

  Tal hunched his shoulders. “When you’re able to stir yourself, find a grain cake and give it to your destroyer with a bit of praise. He saved your life.”

  Yes. Her life was saved. At the cost of her assailant’s eternally suffering soul.

  “Can’t I look?” Tzana demanded, hidden beneath her makeshift tent, which sheltered her from the dawn light spilling over the dead man.

  “No.” Ela frowned, trying to sound severe despite her hoarse voice. “You don’t need to see this, I promise you.” As far as Ela was concerned, Tzana had already seen too much death on this journey.

  “But what if I want to?”

  “You don’t.” Ela shivered, contemplating the crushed, bloodied corpse. She whispered, “Infinite? Couldn’t You have warned me?”

  You didn’t want to know.

  True. But . . . “I would have avoided the privy.”

  You could not have avoided him. He and his master have loved evil too much.

  Ela saw her attacker’s face. And his master’s face. She sighed. Of course it was him. She should have realized this would happen. Infinite, Ela implored in her thoughts, I know I’ll die soon—and I accept that—but to almost die repeatedly beforehand is exhausting! Must my enemies always try to kill me?

  They are My enemies, attacking Me, through you—yes.

  He allowed Ela a tiny hint of His anger toward the evils she’d suffered for His sake. A glimpse of His judgment. She cringed and nearly crawled into Tzana’s tent. Not that it would have helped.

  A shadow passed between Ela and the ruddy light of dawn. Tsir Aun’s shadow. She straightened as he half knelt beside her. He studied her throat, then the sides of her face. His observations finished, the crown commander looked Ela in the eyes. “What can you tell me?”

  “The heir is here,” Ela rasped. “Against his father’s orders, as the Infinite said.”

  “Where, exactly?”

  “He’s among the foot soldiers. But there are too many. You won’t find him until just before the battle—in two days.”

  “Will he attack you again?”

  “His men are too frightened by their comrade’s death. And he doesn’t want to betray his own presence.” Ela worked up courage to form her next question. “Are you still angry with me?”

  The crown commander leaned forward, whispering, “I wasn’t angry with you. I’m worried. It’s a fact that all your predictions have come true. And I’ve seen the Infinite’s power with my own eyes—which is why I trust Him. But now you’ve warned me that I’ll consider betraying my country. . . .” He shook his head, unable to continue.

  “For the best reasons, Tsir Aun, yes, you’ll be tempted. But I’m praying you’ll summon the strength to resist.”

  “What reasons?” He actually looked desperate.

  “Just before the battle, because you now trust Him, the Infinite will show you everything that I’ve seen concerning the slaughter. But you must stay with the king. For Istgard’s sake. And the Infinite’s.”

  “As you say.” Despite his obvious apprehensions, Tsir Aun shrugged and changed the subject. “The king continues to suffer his nightmares. Every night he wakes, screaming and wailing in terror. It’s affecting all the noblemen and my fellow commanders. As it is, the king’s advisors are foolish and making costly mistakes, but now they are sleepless and befuddled. Their drinking alone will cost them this war.”

  “I know. But the Infinite has already given the victory to the Tracelands. Unless you persuade the king to turn to the Infinite, his nightmares will continue, and he will lead most of the army into death.”

  “Unless I can persuade him to change?”

  “Yes. The Infinite is merciful. He will restore the kingdom, up to Tek An’s last breath—if only the king will listen to Him.”

  Tsir Aun pondered for an instant, then said, “If I speak to the king and urge him to consider turning to the Infinite, will he dismiss me as he dismissed Lady Tek Lara?”

  Ela hesitated, knowing he’d be unhappy. “Yes. You’ll be banished from the king’s presence. However, the king won’t remove you from your command. He depends upon
you more than you realize. And he won’t survive your dismissal for long.”

  The crown commander grazed his knuckles along his dark-whiskered jaw, the motion of a man struggling to make a decision. “I’ll go speak to the king now. After he’s dismissed me, I’ll search for the heir. If nothing else, a father and son ought to be together when facing a battle.” He threw Ela a sad smile. “If I’m dismissed, at least I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

  “I heard the commotion last night.” Kien aligned his steps with Ela’s as they trudged along the dusty road. “I was sure it had to do with you, but my guards had me bound hand and foot so I couldn’t come to your rescue.”

  Raw-voiced, Ela muttered, “Thank you for your concern. It was another of the heir’s assassination attempts. Scythe rescued me.”

  “Scythe?”

  “Pet,” she amended. “His battle name is Scythe.”

  Kien laughed. “Perfect! I’ll call him Scythe from now on. No doubt he was impressive.”

  “I’d rather not think of it.”

  His amusement faded. Like Tsir Aun, Kien surveyed her face and throat. His expression turned grim. “Sorry. It’s clear the attack nearly succeeded. I hope you’re feeling well enough to walk through the day. If not, I’ll carry your gear.”

  Why did his sympathy make her feel as if she were coming apart like a bit of raveled fabric? Unable to speak, Ela nodded.

  Kien exhaled. When he finally spoke again, he seemed aggravated. “What sort of loving Creator would compel a young woman to endure everything you’ve suffered?”

  Despite her misery, Ela’s soul gave a small, elated skip. Kien Lantec, actually questioning her about the Infinite! She forced herself to be calm and answer him. “I wasn’t compelled. My Creator asked me to become His prophet. And I agreed.”

  “Why? I mean, if your Infinite is the Creator—the one true God—then why can’t He simply say, ‘Listen, mortals, everyone behave!’ and have them be perfect? Why drag you into this mess?”

  Ela prayed to the Infinite for words, then spoke carefully. “Because He loves us. And love does not demand enslavement, but . . . love desires a partnership. Our Creator seeks true communication between us and Him. He won’t force anyone to love Him. We decide for ourselves.”