by Petra Landon
“Elisabetta is right, Sienna” Luis reiterated. “The CoC is the pinnacle of everything Faoladh has fought for. He’s allied with your aunt because she believes in Chosen co-operation and the greater good. We know what Lady Bethesda thinks of the CoC. I don’t see how Faoladh even considers allying himself with her. It would be unthinkable for him.”
Sienna exchanged a look with her sister, to lapse into silence, clearly mulling over both Were-Alphas’ assurances. It was Roman Durovic who made the counter argument.
“Luis, my man, it’s not that I don’t see your point” he drawled. “It’s just that I’d feel a lot better if I knew what the end-goal is. How can we even fathom what’s in it for Faoladh if we don’t understand how Lady Bethesda benefits from this? The Prophecy states that her daughters will walk away with all the adulation, and the Chosen world will be the better for their intervention. Everyone in this room knows that will not satisfy the Lady. Not by far! She’s not working towards greater good for Chosen. She craves power for herself.”
Tasia frowned, wrenching herself away from the gold eyes holding her captive. Roman’s words played through her mind again. Engrossed in the back and forth as the Shifters attempted to abate Sienna and Roman’s doubts, Hawk seemed to finally realize that Tasia was restless. He arched his eyebrow at her silently, a subtle question in his eyes. Tasia shook her head, sending him a reassuring smile.
She sat back, allowing the conversation around her to recede into the background. Roman’s words had served to interrupt Tasia from her preoccupation with her personal quandary. Everything they had learnt so far about Lady Bethesda pointed to one desire. She hungered for power. Not for her daughters, or her allies, but for herself. Nothing else would satisfy the ruthless Wizard.
Tasia had not fully appreciated Lady Bethesda’s ambition in the early days of the investigation. Then, it had merely been an endeavor to unravel bits and pieces of the past to make sense of it. Once enough had been pieced together to understand the crucial role The Prophecy played in the Wizard’s plans, she’d been mystified by this very question — how did The Prophecy benefit Lady Bethesda’s aspirations? But since Duncan and the Alpha were convinced that the Wizard’s goal was to usurp power, Tasia had buried her own questions to follow their lead. Now, that question was rearing its head again. Roman had aptly summarized her qualms. Regardless of the Shifters’ confidence and assurances, how could they trust Faoladh to be on the right side of this, if they didn’t understand what Lady Bethesda’s endgame was?
Tasia mused on the mystery, her mind attempting to piece together the puzzle, like she had so many others in the course of the investigation. What they knew of The Prophecy was simple — it promised glory to Sienna and her half-sisters, and some kind of transformation to the Chosen diaspora, neither of which would satisfy the grasping Lady Bethesda. And yet, it was the Wizard herself who’d picked The Prophecy as the vehicle for her ambitions. Why had Lady Bethesda chosen this particular vague foretelling of the future, Tasia wondered. That it had been foretold by a seer with a spectacular record of success had surely played a part. The Oracle’s attempt to assuage his wife by telling her of her daughters’ role in The Prophecy had undoubtedly also played a part. But what else had Lady Bethesda seen in the omen? Something the Wizard believed would aid her lust for power?
An event was fated to be the catalyst to unite the sisters from The Prophecy. Yet, their mother had made no moves to unite her daughters. Bianchi had pursued Sienna for the artifact, rather than to convince her to join her mother, and while Nandini had been plucked away in a brilliant pre-preemptive strike, her mother had readily offered her as a pawn in exchange for the locket. Both seemed to indicate Lady Bethesda’s supreme confidence that the siblings would come together when the time was ripe, and that giving Nandini up held no risks for her. What was it about The Prophecy that gave the meticulous Wizard such utter confidence that it would fulfill her ambitions?
“Do you remember the Ancient term the Oracle used for this event or catastrophe meant to unite the three siblings, Esmeralda?”
“Chetariki.”
“It seems to imply that the siblings require a qualifying event to bring them together. Perhaps, even that they’re fated to remain apart without this catalyst.”
“That would make it the most important aspect of this prophecy, as important as the half-sisters.”
Tasia stirred, the answer dancing at the edges of her mind. Chetariki — the Oracle had used this to describe the catalyst that would push The Prophecy from the realm of omen into reality. In the Ancient tongue, chetariki had other nuances, based on the context it was used in.
The Alpha, attuned to her, ignored the others, sensing her rising excitement.
“Witchling?” he called to her.
Equally attuned, Tasia’s eyes moved to him.
As she stared at him in dawning realization, he asked her again. “What is it?”
By now, conversation in the room had ceased, with attention alternating between the Alpha and the Wizard.
“You once implied that the event predicted to bring the sisters together to fulfill it could make or break The Prophecy” she said slowly, paraphrasing him.
“Yes.” Raoul remembered it well.
Tasia glanced at Sienna and Nandini, both staring at her, like the others. “Sienna will never do her mother’s bidding. Not willingly, anyway.”
Sienna nodded sharply, confirming the statement. This was no secret. She had made clear her objection to her mother’s ambitions, whatever they be.
Surprisingly, Nandini, hitherto silent, piped up too. “Neither will I, if I have anything to say about it” she stated.
“Lady Bethesda faces an enormous hurdle” Tasia remarked. “Even if everything goes according to her plans, she must somehow convince her unwilling daughters to aid her cause. Because otherwise, The Prophecy does not further her quest for power. She must cross this hurdle even if she has prior knowledge of the event meant to unite her daughters.”
“Yes, she must convince them somehow” Jason chimed in to agree. “She’ll never take a backseat to anyone, not even her own daughters.”
“Yet, she chose this particular prophecy” Tasia interjected. “No one else did.”
She paused, trying to find the words to explain her thoughts.
“If I understand you correctly, Tasia” Duncan said thoughtfully. “You’re suggesting that since Lady Bethesda picked The Prophecy to further her ambitions, she doesn’t consider this an obstacle, contrary to what it looks like. Ergo, she must have the solution, because clearly she chose this particular prophecy to hang her hat on.”
“Yes, Duncan.” Tasia nodded, grateful to him for summing it up. “That’s exactly what I mean. The more I think about this …” She paused.
“What?” Raoul asked.
“It has to do with chetariki, the term the Oracle used when he foretold The Prophecy.”
“An event that serves as a catalyst” Roman murmured, echoing Faoladh’s definition.
“Yes” Tasia assented. “But in the Ancient tongue, based on the context, it could also signify a person, not merely an event.”
“A person” Elisabetta exclaimed, clearly puzzled.
While others in the room looked equally mystified; Atsá, Roman, Duncan and the Alpha, the ones with the most experience and knowledge of Chosen affairs, had the first inkling of what Tasia suggested.
“A rainmaker” Atsá said abruptly.
Roman frowned. “Do you mean it the way the business world uses the term, Atsá?”
“No, Roman.” Atsá shook his head. “I use it as it was meant.”
“I’ve heard the term many times, but I never quite understood it” Hawk said to his grandfather, for once no hint of constraint in him.
“Like Roman said, it means something very different today, but the term originated from our people, Hawk. Some say from our Hopi brothers. Legend has it that when the skies run dry and the crops thirst for life-giving water, it
is a sign that the Rain Gods must be appeased. To do so, means a set of very intricate and carefully performed rituals to ask the Gods for rain. But all the rituals in the world are worthless, unless conducted by the right person — the one ordained as the rainmaker. The rainmaker is the only one who can appease the Rain Gods and convince them to save the crops.”
Atsá paused, while the others pondered his words. “I believe Tasia means that the chetariki in this context is the equivalent of a rainmaker — someone The Prophecy foretells as the one whose actions will set it on the path to fruition.”
“It is a person who will bring us together” Sienna murmured wonderingly. “Not an event.”
“I’m confused.” Hawk shook his head. “You’re saying the catalyst is someone and not something?”
“Not anyone, Hawk” Roman countered. “It has to be the right person. A rainmaker, as Atsá put it, whose task, in this case, is to fulfill The Prophecy.”
“How does that help Lady Bethesda?” Hawk, still puzzled, glanced at Tasia.
“It does if Lady Bethesda is the rainmaker” Raoul said softly, answering Hawk’s question. “Without her, there’s no prophecy. It gives her enormous power over the outcome, Hawk.”
Sienna gasped and Jason went pale, at having his suspicions thus confirmed.
“This would explain everything — her confidence, her unusual disregard for the daughters she needs to fulfill The Prophecy, even how this prophecy aids her cause” Duncan said, his eyes meeting the Alpha’s.
He turned to Tasia. “This is brilliant, Tasia.”
“It is” Atsá concurred. “Tasia’s interpretation is the only plausible one.”
“Yes” Roman agreed thoughtfully. “If Lady B is the rainmaker, it would give her what she desires most — great glory and power over the same Chosen who have snubbed, ignored and accused her in the past. No more walking in anyone’s shadow — not even her daughters’.”
“Don’t forget” Jason said grimly. “Even as she consolidates power, she believes it is Faoladh himself who will guard her, protecting her from the consequences of the past and her power grab.”
“But she still needs her daughters to further her ambitions” Luis reminded them.
“Luis makes a very good point. Rainmaker or not, if we keep our distance, there’s no way this prophecy comes true” Nandini asserted. “Now that we’re forewarned, we can foil her plans.”
“We have to find your sister” the Alpha warned. “If your mother has her, she’ll use her to get you both to do her bidding. Remember, if all she needs to further her goals is to bring the three of you together, it makes her more dangerous than a scenario where she has to convince the three of you to aid her cause.”
Sienna glanced around the room at the subtle signs of how this revelation had changed their perception of the threat her mother posed to them — the dread on Jason’s face, the determination on Nandini’s, the resolve on the Alpha’s, the disquiet on Duncan’s, and even the determined calm on Roman’s face, all pointed to one thing. She stiffened her spine.
“There’s something we must not forget. She might’ve convinced herself that her power is derived from her role as the rainmaker in Da’s prophecy but it is a surmise, not fact” Sienna said fiercely. “Just because she believes it, doesn’t make it true.”
“You don’t believe it, Sienna?” Tasia looked surprised.
“Oh, I believe you’re absolutely correct in your interpretation of Da’s prophecy, Tasia. But I don’t believe my mother is the chetariki” she said firmly.
“Wouldn’t Da have told her so, if that were true?” Sienna argued, glancing at the Alpha. “Why be cryptic about this?”
“He might well have, Sienna” Raoul said quietly. “Just because she didn’t share it with me doesn’t mean your father didn’t tell her so.”
Sienna shook her head. “She won’t share that her daughters are destined for glory, while hiding her own light under a bushel. I don’t buy that.”
Raoul said nothing. He hoped that Sienna was right. And, maybe she was. She knew both her Da and her mother better than anyone else in the room.
“Trevor will be back soon” Sienna added determinedly. “He’s promised us Da’s interpretation. You can bet that anything Da considered significant, he put on record.”
Eight weeks ago, deep in the Belizean Rainforest
The shadow slipped in through the window to rest on the sill. The room was medium-sized, sparsely but luxuriously furnished, like all the spaces in the eco resort. On the king-sized bed, a silhouette slept soundly. Moonlight streamed in through the open window to fall just short, leaving the bed in the shadows.
The shadow on the sill took a deep breath, to slip into the room on soft feet. For a moment, she felt overwhelmed by the occasion. Too much was riding on tonight. But matters were so dire that it could only get better. The timely reminder brought a grim smile to her face.
She glided towards the bed, every step measured, her watchful eyes on the sleeping man. If she had the right room, the man on the bed was one of the most dangerous Chosen their world had seen. On his back, sprawled on the bed, he lay tangled up in the sheets. Oblivious to her presence, he slept, his face turned away from the moon, his chest rising evenly.
When she was almost at the thin sliver of moonlight by the bed, she stopped again. Her eagle eyes had caught no movement from the sleeping man. She girded herself, readying to take the final step — her last chance to escape the terrifying fate that awaited her.
He was off the bed in a flash, so fast that the first inkling of danger she had was the sharp edge of a weapon under her chin. He moved like a Blutsauger, she mused. Or a Wyr. The trickle of something warm dipped down her neck into her collar bone, even as she felt the gentle pressure of the knife cut into her. She held her breath, afraid to move. A muscled torso met her at eye level. He was big — what she could see of him, that is. For one mad moment, she wondered if she should lean into the knife. Would that provide the blessed oblivion she had resigned herself to, as her only choice? Then, her logical self reared its head to remind her that the action would be futile. This was precisely why she had braved the danger to approach him. The irony of it, she sighed silently.
The hulk stepped back to retract the knife. She glanced up slowly — a long way up. He was in the shadows. All she could tell was that he was big.
Like I didn’t know that already.
His hand snaked out and she ducked, self-preservation kicking in.
“Stay still” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”
His voice surprised her. Deep and rich, it flowed smoothly. It was a voice made for seduction, the antithesis of a man with his reputation. He spoke in English, with an accent she could not place. Not surprising, for this was Belize, the only country in Central America where English reigned over Spanish. Her English was passable, tinged with a strong Italian accent, but it was rusty. It had been years since she’d practiced it. Better English than Spanish, though, she reminded herself. Her Spanish was worse. Perhaps, her luck was finally on the upswing, she mused optimistically.
“Righhht” she drawled sarcastically. “That’s why I feel blood dripping down my neck.”
He took a deliberate step towards her. It brought him partially into the light. A shock of dark hair over a face marked by hard angles and striking pale eyes met her gaze. Something buried deep in the eyes let her know that she had broken into the right room. This was the man she sought.
He said nothing, his eyes holding hers to swipe a calloused thumb on her neck. She watched in some confusion as he sniffed delicately at her blood. Whatever he sensed seemed to surprise him. The pale eyes shot to her. In the silvery light that bathed him, she couldn’t discern the color of his eyes, but they stood out like a beacon against the swarthy skin and dark hair.
“You’re lucky I didn’t skewer you, little girl. You’re too young to have a death wish.”
I wish.
The dispassionate pale eyes studied her, be
fore he stepped back into the shadows again.
“You’re in the wrong room” he said dismissively. “Out.”
Her eyes widened. “What? No; I was looking for you.”
“No, you weren’t.” He was confidence personified.
“I was” she insisted, fear driving her. “You’re the one they call ElMorad.”
He went still. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”
“I’m exactly where I meant to be” she insisted, relief making her reckless.
He strode forward into the moonlight again, subtly menacing this time. She found herself backing away.
His eyes flickered. “That’s right. You should be scared of me.” His voice was a whisper.
But she couldn’t afford to be frightened of him. A darker and more terrifying fate awaited her, if she was unsuccessful tonight. She wrenched her gaze away from the pale eyes, only for her mouth to drop open. Now that he was in the light and she wasn’t pressed up close, she could finally see all of him — in glorious detail, bathed in moonlight.
“You don’t have any clothes on” she breathed.
He looked confused. “Why would I?”
She glanced at him fleetingly, her eyes skittering away. “I’d appreciate it if you could …” She waved her hands at him.
He took a step deliberately into the sliver of moonlight that marked the floor. “You come seeking ElMorad, but can’t handle a naked man.” There was a note of suspicion in his voice.
She grit her teeth, to face him. Time was running out. The Blutsaugers would discover her absence if she didn’t hurry.
“I have a proposition for you” she said calmly, meeting his gaze head on.
“ElMorad is dead, little girl” he warned her in the rich and smooth tones that reminded her of well-aged wine. “And you’re in over your head.”
Wasn’t she just?