The Kingmaker Prophecy

by Gemma Perfect

  “The sacrifice. Tragic, but necessary.”

  “How so?”

  “Her blood makes the decision, makes the choice. She has the magic within her which instinctively knows which sibling will be better suited to the role of King. It hasn’t failed us so far and I don’t believe that it will. She has inside knowledge. She shares the blood of these men and so she has something within her from the sorceress – power and magic which she passes on to the next Kingmaker, and so on.”

  “Was there any other way?”

  “Maybe, but once we hit upon this idea, there seemed no need to look for another. It did what we needed it to do for the Realm. Each Kingmaker is instilled from birth with the power needed to make the right choice. And as I said, we had one occurrence, just one, where our Kingmaker died ahead of her time, and the following reign was diabolical in every way. We are only now recovering from it and we have some way to go. I cannot stress the importance of her role enough. And it is why she needs someone considerate to take her life. Someone who secretly enjoyed it would not be fair or just.”

  Halfreda sighs. “And you see me doing this? Slitting throats?”

  “Don’t say it like that, so blasé. It’s not. There are ceremonies and feasts, that lead up to the Kingmaker’s death; rites and rituals that we observe. We all recognise and appreciate her sacrifice. She is so special.”

  “So special she must die?”

  “She is destined to die.”

  5

  “Now enough talk. We are distracting from the real reason we are here. You will be no use to King or Realm until you harness and accept your powers fully. Walk with me.”

  They meander through the trees and down to the river’s edge. “Now a King can command nature. We cannot command it but we use our magic to change things. Have you ever tried a spell?”

  Halfreda shakes her head. “No. I try to ignore anything magical.”

  “So, it is time to change that. Knowing things, hearing things, seeing spirits, is all well and good but a lot of the information given is wishy-washy to say the least. You need to command your gifts, lead them in the direction you want them to go. For example, you might meet a man in the market and figure that he has ill intentions. You may not necessarily see who those ill intentions are against or what specifically they are. That’s not useful – he could just be planning to kill the family chicken because he is hungry, or he could be planning to murder our King. Quite a difference. Spells are a way of channelling our magic and asking for a specific intention or outcome. I could do a spell for a good crop or make a tincture that will ease the pain of a swollen knee. Either of them is more useful than a random idea of what someone may or may not be thinking.”

  Halfreda can see where he is coming from. “So, as I have these gifts, I may as well make them as useful as possible?”

  “Exactly. You may always have visions and conversations with the dead. They may just be something you put up with, but they will have their uses. Prophecies often come during visions, and so anyone who has visions could end up being important, but these applications of your gifts are haphazard and vague. We want to know specifics. Let’s go back to the house, to my work room and try something.”

  Happy to follow along and do as she is told, Halfreda pushes aside the niggle of unease that she feels and follows him.

  The teacher’s work room is fascinating and would be to anyone – even someone with no magical edge. There are rows and rows of heavy-looking old books, hundreds of bottles and jars filled with who knows what. There are fresh ingredients plucked from the woods – roots and stems and petals, all ready to be used in some concoction or other.

  “This is not fairy tale magic from stories around fires as the stars come out. We don’t need eyes of newts or feet of frogs, mostly all that we need are fresh ingredients. Plants and flowers that grow. Seeds that grow into new plants all have an intelligence within them; they are alive. We use that energy, that synergy to aid our magic.”

  He fetches a pestle and mortar and starts crushing some leaves. He adds some drops of something cloudy, that smells disgusting, from a tall, thin bottle, and then takes a coal from the fire. He drops the coal into the leafy liquid and as it hits the water, a wisp of smoke heads upwards. Watching intently, Halfreda gasps.

  “What?”

  “I saw something – as the coal hit the water and the smoke rose up.”

  “What was it?”

  Halfreda hesitates.

  “Tell me.”

  “It was Zanna. She was...” Halfreda shakes her head. “I don’t like this. What if what I’m seeing is wrong – just a trick, because I don’t really like her very much.”

  “What did you see?”

  “She was stealing. She looked from side to side, then slipped her hand into Mal’s cloak and took a bag of coin.”

  The teacher nods. “Our personal feelings about a person can certainly colour how we feel when they are around – whether we feel happy or uneasy, whether our heart lifts at the sight of someone or whether our stomach churns. But magic is a separate entity, it doesn’t hold a grudge, or judge a person, it doesn’t understand preferences. If you had seen Nerida in the vision you would have found it harder to believe. You might not have wanted to believe it. You may not have told me, but it would have been just as true.”

  “So, she’s stealing? Or going to steal?”

  “This is where our magic gets tricky. It is magic and not science. It is not always exact or precise. This may be something she wants to do, something she has thought about but will never act on, something she definitely will do or something she has done.”

  “Not so helpful then?”

  “Completely helpful. It reinforces the unease I feel about her. She is not well liked – not by anyone. She was not well thought of in her village and so far, I am unable to see a future for her.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I will watch her more closely because I have more information now than I did have. Though it is still not exact, it is more than I had. I will speak to Mal and Menna about her, so they will have their wits about them when she is near. Also, I will look to my own magic to decide on what happens next. It may be that I do not see her future because she does not have one.”

  “Because she dies?”

  “Not necessarily, but it could be. Or it could be that she leaves our company here and I don’t hear from her or see her again. I will address this myself. I don’t need you to do anything or say anything. Please.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Magic isn’t always easy, Halfreda. Often it gives us additional burdens that we would prefer not to have. But reining it in will absolutely be better for you. Mastering your magic and taking control will only be a good thing. Why don’t you look for Nerida and help her with her incantations? Leave this problem with me?”

  Halfreda nods and as she leaves the teacher in his work room. He is already pouring out measures of liquid and cutting up ingredients to make another spell.

  She finds Nerida in the garden, eyes closed, lips moving, whispering incantations to herself. She watches her quietly for a second, feeling the joy of seeing a good friend lift her spirits, before joining her.

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “Just with the teacher.”

  “You’re so lucky.” Nerida’s voice is wistful. “You know that, don’t you? How lucky you are that he wants to help you so much.”

  “He helps us all.”

  “He helps you most.”

  “Because I’m a hopeless case.”

  “No. Because he thinks so highly of you.”

  “You said. You heard him telling Mal.”

  “You can just tell, though.”

  “I think I frustrate him, actually. And annoy him.”

  “Yes, those things too, but that’s what makes you a challenge for him. The rest of us, we’re easy. Easy to teach and easy to find roles for. You’re different.”

  “I wish I was
the same as the rest of you. I don’t want to work at the castle and kill Kingmakers.”

  “I wouldn’t either. I’ll miss you when you go.”

  “Come with me.”

  “I can’t. The teacher wouldn’t let me.”

  “Why not?”

  “He sees me in my little village, being the village witch.”

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  “It is, actually. I think I’d be good at it.”

  “Maybe you could come to the castle for a little while. I don’t even know when I’m going there. If I’m going there.”

  “I think you will. The teacher is so wise.”

  “He said it’s my choice, though.”

  “Why would you choose anything else? The wise woman of the castle is the most respected and revered witch in the Realm. I’d love it.”

  “And killing the Kingmakers?”

  “Carrying out an official sacrifice?”

  “Doesn’t make it any better, wording it like that.”

  “I just think it’s a huge opportunity and you’d be silly to let it go. I’ll come with you when you go – if I can. I’d love to see the castle and meet the King.”

  Halfreda is quiet. It appears the decision has been made. By her? Or the teacher? It seems everyone assumes or believes she will go to the castle and assist the King. Can she change her future, does she even want to? She shakes her head, clearing out all her thoughts. “Why don’t you do some more incantations, I can’t keep thinking about it, or worrying about it.”

  “True. Worry about me instead. I just cannot get them right.”

  “You’re overthinking it. Let the words flow. Let the right words come. The more you tense up, the more you trip over your words. Close your eyes and breathe deeply. Start the first one again. Slowly and confidently, like you know you’ll get it right, like you know you won’t make any mistakes.”

  Nerida closes her eyes and Halfreda watches her, willing her to get the words in the right order, with the right tone and inflections. Nerida starts to chant and when she gets it right first time, opens her eyes and hugs Halfreda. “I know you helped me! Thank you.”

  Halfreda smiles and pulls her friend to her feet. “It was all you. Let’s see if Menna needs help in the kitchen.”

  Menna does need help in the kitchen. She gets Nerida kneading bread and Halfreda chopping up fruit. There are many mouths to feed and it takes time to prepare, and cook, three meals a day. Menna spends most of her day in the kitchen, and she’s happy to do it. She enjoys the solitude and being useful to the group in equal measure.

  “We have some fish that Mal caught this morning. Do either of you know how to gut a fish?”

  Menna laughs at the look of disgust that crosses both of their faces. “Fine – I’ll do the fish, you stick to your fruit and bread. How are you getting on girls? Are you enjoying your time here?”

  They both say yes at the same time, but Nerida elaborates. “I love it. I feel so lucky to have the teacher helping me.”

  “He loves to help people. Once you girls are sorted out, he’ll be travelling around the Realm again, finding more lost souls to help.”

  “Lost souls?”

  “Yes. There are a lot of magical people in the Realm, Halfreda, he doesn’t need to help all of them. There are only a small amount of you, relatively, that need assistance because, for some reason, you can’t get there on your own.”

  “I don’t feel like a lost soul.”

  “That might be a bit harsh – but it’s what I call you all in my head. It’s not technically correct either, but none of you flourish and develop without his assistance. The people who come here, the people he finds, he finds for a reason. Maybe you would have found your way without him – as some do – but it would be a struggle, no doubt. Anyway, don’t be offended. It’s serendipitous that he did find you. We are happy to have you and so is he. Helping people is what makes him happy. Makes him thrive.”

  “He’s so selfless.”

  “Selfish too.” Menna laughs as both girls look shocked. “Selfish is not always a bad thing, girls. He knows that I refer to him as selfish and he agrees. It just so happens that what he loves to do, wants to do, feels he should do, is beneficial to more than just him. It’s alright to be selfish sometimes – to look after yourself first – so that you are in the position to look after others. To think of your own happiness first is good, because that is what most people are doing. If you rely on others to make you happy, bring you peace, give you self-confidence, you will be left wanting. Make yourself a priority, ladies, and please, don’t feel bad about it.”

  The girls are watching Menna with something close to amazement. They have never been told to be selfish before. Most women and girls, are told to look after others, told that pride comes before a fall, told that they must be selfless and giving always. Yet, here is someone they look up to and respect, telling them to look after themselves.

  “Girls, if a mother bird goes hungry or falls ill due to poor self-care, and cannot leave her nest, who will feed the baby birds?”

  “No one.”

  “Exactly.”

  Menna grabs a knife and guts the fish, a look of satisfaction on her face. The teacher is not the only one who can dole out life lessons.

  6

  Sitting around the fire, watching everyone eat the bread that Nerida kneaded, the fruit she cut up and the fish that Menna gutted and cooked, Halfreda feels peace wash over her, until her eyes rest upon Zanna.

  She is a plain looking girl, maybe a touch older than Halfreda, maybe a touch younger – it is hard to say. She dresses plainly too – always in a plain black dress, a plain black cloak, her hair pulled back tightly off her face, making her features look pinched and harsh.

  With her food in one hand and her ale in the other, she is pontificating about some point or other, duelling with words, with Kinsey. Kinsey is getting redder and redder in the face as she tries to explain what she means, to make herself understood, but Zanna keeps butting in, not letting her finish.

  Halfreda has felt sorry for Kinsey since they all arrived at the round house together, from different parts of the Realm. On the journey, she was quiet and closed-off from the others. There was a strange negativity coming off her even then. Not that she was negative; she has a pretty face, a quick and easy smile, and a pleasant countenance, but Halfreda could feel waves of animosity emanating from her, from within her.

  With tears rolling down her face, Kinsey had, with the help of the teacher, explained that she was filled with the darkest, most evil demons and needed help to get rid of them. Each day the teacher spends time with her, banishing the demons from her body and mind.

  Every time Halfreda sees her, each day, she can see a change in the energy that surrounds her. She is blossoming and glowing and it’s wonderful to see; a real testament to what the teacher is capable of.

  But Zanna is still battling with her, not letting her speak.

  The teacher intervenes before anyone else can. “Zanna, if you believe in your argument so completely then you can allow someone else to give you theirs, surely.”

  She blushes and takes a sip of ale. “I just don’t agree with her. She’s wrong.”

  “So say you.”

  “So says anyone with any intelligence.”

  Kinsey is close to tears and Halfreda sends her strength from across the fire, smiling as the flames lick up, burning a little brighter.

  “I am intelligent, Zanna. I am also filled with evil magic which the teacher is unchaining me from. I don’t need you to tell me about things I already know.”

  “Even if you’re wrong?”

  “How can I be wrong when I am talking about myself and my own experiences. I know what I see and feel more than anyone.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating. To get attention.”

  Kinsey shakes her head. “If you could only see the things I see, you would weep. I would never lie to the teacher.”

  “Calm, girls.
Please keep calm. Zanna – you’re out of order. Kinsey, I know what you see, what you endure and how bravely you face these demons while I draw them out of you. Please ignore our mutual friend.”

  Kinsey nods, wiping at her eyes, eating some food just to have something to do.

  Halfreda watches Kinsey eat, watches the cold look of amusement come over Zanna and feels fury fill her up.

  She waits until everyone is busy eating again, conversations starting up, after Zanna’s awkward outburst, and concentrates her gaze on Kinsey and the air around her. The demons are fewer, but there is still a black cloud of bad energy that surrounds her.

  Halfreda watches Kinsey through the fire, the flames licking up, obscuring her face, and the darkness that emanates from her.

  Whispering inside her own head, Halfreda calls spirits to her. She has never invited them before. It’s not the wisest thing she has ever done, and for a moment she is overwhelmed by the images flooding her mind, the feel of invisible fingers touching her skin, the clamour of voices pushing for her attention.

  Focussing intently, determined and pushed onwards by her fury against Zanna, she sends most of the spirits away, just concentrating her energy on Kinsey, calling a demon forward, calling one to her side.

  She feels her energy draining. A shiver of black ice touches her spine and she knows she has one: a demon spirit. Harnessing her powers like she has never done before, unsure if it will even work, she uses one part of her mind to keep the demon shackled to her side, and stares at the fire, urging the smoke to increase and the flames to dull down.

  Oblivious to the chatter continuing around her, she calls the smoke towards her as she pushes the demon away. She focusses on bringing them together, hoping that what she wants to happen, will.

  She wants the smoke and the demon to collide; the wreathes of smoke giving the demon a physical form; to frighten Zanna and avenge Kinsey.

  The air changes, and the chatter dulls as she stares intently at the air in front of her. It’s happening and she feels a rush of power, the smoke is solidifying, taking a shape and taking a form.