“But why does fate not want the prophecies to be clear?”
“Hazen, trust me that the prophecies are meant to be this way. It's human nature to rebel. The more specifically we’re told what to do, the more we fight it. If the prophecies gave a detailed account of the future, maybe we’d realize how hard they’d be and not even try.”
Hazen thought on this.
“Besides,” said Troy, “what if you wrote down everything verbatim but were wrong about something you saw? Those in the future might go off your false facts and make a huge mistake. Who knows? I’m sorry I can’t explain it very well. But I’ve seen what will happen with several of these prophecies. Trust me that you’ve done a good thing.”
Hazen felt moisture rising to his eyes.
Troy looked truly sorry for all he’d suffered. “Hazen, what you’ve done will give the Marked saviors of Earth the only guidance they’ll have. Maybe that’s the whole point – you’ve given a promise that the world can be better.”
Hazen let out a breath.
“I came here,” said Troy, “to thank you. And to give you some encouragement. I know after everything you’ve seen you must feel very…small. But this was all more important than you can imagine.” He smiled. “Well, you know something about seeing futures, so perhaps you can imagine.”
Hazen made a face of agreement.
“Anyway.” Troy tapped his fingers on the table. “I have a favor to ask you.”
“You’re the Interceder. You need my help?”
“Well, like I said, this future isn’t far off. The Bearers are born in your lifetime, after all.” He winked. “So, in this near-ish future, I need you to do something.” He fished for something in his coat pocket and drew out a small book. He handed it to Hazen.
It was a moleskin journal, like one he used to write in as a kid. Hazen lifted the cover to flip its blank pages. “What’s this for?”
“I need you to write down the prophecies, in English. Keep this journal with you. Someday, I need you to give it to my Bearer brother. That, Hazen, is a game-changer. My brother will… Well, giving him that book of prophecies will set us on the correct path.”
Hazen looked at the journal again.
I memorized the prophecies when Renny recited them for Seth, he thought. Yeah, I could write them all. Lord knows we’ve learned the importance of copies.
He looked back at Troy. “Can’t I just write them now and give this back to you? Then you could get it to your brother whenever he needs it.”
“It’s meant to be you who gives it to him.” Troy smiled. “And, when you meet my brother, I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention this meeting. All this circular, changing the past from the future stuff confuses the hell out of people.”
Hazen had some idea what Troy meant, so he nodded. “Okay.” He looked at the journal again.
Renny and I might want a copy of the prophecies for ourself anyway, he thought. It’d certainly be nice to have them recorded in English. The monks never need to know we’ve got this journal. I probably shouldn’t tell them about Troy either, since we’re not telling them about our Interceder visions.
The weight of responsibility settled back on his shoulders. “Are you sure this is up to me?”
Troy nodded. “You’re not done yet, Hazen.”
“But the visions have dried up now that…” He swallowed as he saw the man’s secretive grin. “Shit. Our visions do start up again, don’t they? Am I going to have nightmares the rest of my life?” Hazen heard his voice shake. “Do I become like Vin?”
“No,” Troy insisted. “No, Hazen. I promise you, Renny, and Jazzmon remain sane and good to the end of your days.”
Hazen tried to believe this. “Do we go back to Gyantse?”
“That’s entirely up to you.”
He snorted a laugh. “Sure it is.”
Troy raised his hands. “I don’t see alternate paths like you prophets. I only see what will definitely happen. So, naturally I know what you decide about your place with the Kota. But it is your choice.”
Hazen tried to think of any questions Renny would want answered. “Why didn’t we have more visions about you? We didn’t see enough to make the whole prophecy.”
“Ah, well. I’m not supposed to know my whole job until a certain time. I suspect you’re meant to keep what you’ve seen of me to yourselves until the rest of the visions arrive. Then you write the Interceder Prophecy, and by then it’ll be time for me to know.”
“So we don’t have more visions until after you’re born? When’s that?”
Troy mimed zipping his lips.
Hazen huffed but looked at the journal in his hand. “Can you tell me when I give this to your brother?”
Troy rose from his seat with another secretive grin, straightening his coat. “Oh, you’ll figure it out.”
Hazen made a face up at him. “Come on! You’re from the future. You’re the only person who can really guide us, and now-”
Troy laughed. “You guide me, Hazen. See, I told you all this circular stuff is confusing.”
Hazen rolled his eyes.
Troy smiled one last time, then bowed farewell before walking out of the marketplace.
Hazen huffed again.
Well, he thought. I would’ve at least liked to see the Interceder open a portal. Good lord…
He looked at the empty journal in his hands. After another moment’s thought, he reached for his backpack, tucked the journal inside, and rose from his seat. With a final inhalation of wonderfully meaty aromas, he walked out of the marketplace. Time to meet Renny at the airport.
She’s gonna be pissed she missed this guy, he thought.
Then Hazen remembered. He had a third cousin named Pax Kandoya.
10
The Bearer
Fifty years passed.
Hazen was back in Canada, where he believed his adventure began the day he met Renny. It had all started here, and he suspected much would happen here again.
Leaning on his cane, Hazen took a wobbly step from the chauffeured car that had brought him to this cemetery. The pavement was wet from earlier rain. He saw through his thick glasses that the few trees of the cemetery dripped rainwater from their budding leaves. Hazen used his cane to step off the road onto green grass. Before approaching the funeral gathering, he inspected his dark coat and monk robes underneath.
This combo probably looks weird, he thought. Oh, well, I never did dress properly for the occasion.
With a grin, he proceeded along the lane of tombstones. When he arrived at Pax Kandoya’s burial site, Hazen leaned on his cane to inspect the mourners. He recognized a few distant relatives in the black-attired crowd. Pax had led a good life, and many tears were shed for their beloved cousin, uncle, friend, and father.
Hazen spotted the one man he was certain he recognized.
There’s Troy, he thought. Wow, he barely ages a day…
The pastor at the head of the casket was saying, “Pax leaves behind many who love him. Sister Hipstra and brother-in-law Binx. Niece Marybeth. Nephews Elliot and Connor.”
Hazen smiled at the next generation’s normal names. Those his age had suffered from their parents’ choices and gone the other way for their children.
I’ll have to remember to tell Renny when I get home, he thought.
“Sons Troy and Lee,” the pastor continued.
Hazen looked at the man beside Troy.
There he is, thought Hazen. The other Bearer brother. He’s the one I must talk to and convince to join the Kota.
Over the years, as the number of Kota grew worldwide, those in Tibet decided it was best to establish a Kota Council of elders to help guide their followers. Naturally, as the two remaining original prophets, Hazen and Renny were asked to join this Council. Jazzmon had died in Scandinavia a few years before, or else Hazen knew she too would’ve been asked. As for Renny and himself, they secretly knew their work as prophets was
not yet finished, so they’d accepted positions on the Council. And this was how they’d set in motion the fulfillment of their prophecies. Because of their fame and reputation, it was easy to convince the other Council members that the Kandoya brothers were the chosen Bearers they’d envisioned so long ago.
Hence Hazen’s trip to Canada now.
He pulled out the aged journal from his coat. Now, the pages were no longer blank. Along with the prophecies he’d made with Renny, Jazzmon, and Oryan, he’d written several prophecies that had come to newer prophets over the years. Few were anything like the distant-future visions the original prophets had seen, but they were noteworthy in their own way. Many had already been fulfilled, and Hazen thought they added a sense of hope to the book.
Breaking up his thoughts, the funeral gathering dispersed. Hazen watched as Troy Kandoya reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. The Interceder-to-be lifted a finger at his brother and walked off to answer the call.
Okay, thought Hazen, here we go.
He stepped with his cane over to Lee Kandoya, who was shaking hands and thanking people for coming. His wavy, brown hair blew in the breeze, but he didn’t seem concerned about his appearance. His eyes looked as if he’d cried earlier, but now he was politely strong for his family and father’s friends.
When Hazen’s turn at the end of the line arrived, he shook the young man’s hand. “So sorry for your loss. We never met, but I’m a third cousin of your father’s.”
“Oh.” Lee’s smile was warm and genuine. “How good of you to come, sir.”
Hazen held up the book. “Do you have a moment? I wish to discuss something with you.”
Lee glanced at the departing crowd, then gave Hazen his full attention. “Of course. What would you like to discuss?”
“The future.” Hazen smiled.
Excerpt from
The Kota (The Kota Series Book 1)
Lee’s expression was one of complete confusion as he looked up from within the cryogenic bed and saw Trok kneeling beside him. Reviving him had been a shockingly easy procedure, but the Kota scientists with Trok had prepared for this their whole lives.
Lee coughed and struggled to sit up in the steaming cryo bed.
“It’s alright,” said Trok. “You’re okay. Just take it easy.”
He was so excited and relieved to see Lee alive that he nearly grabbed him in a long-overdue embrace. Instead, he placed a hand on Lee’s shoulder to steady him. Trok was tense for several reasons, but first off he wanted to make sure Lee was okay.
He’s my long-lost little brother, thought Trok. Please, oh, please, just let him be okay!
As the doctors examined him, Lee looked beyond Trok at the dozen men and women gathered. Then he looked around the lab-cave. Trok knew Lee would see immediately that a good deal of time had passed – the state of the lab-cave showed centuries of disuse. Trok and the descendents of the Kota remnant had always kept a careful eye on the place, but some things couldn’t fight age. Faint running lights hummed overhead, but the balcony around their lower level had rusted long ago and collapsed in places. Most of the ancient machinery was broken. Only the life support functions remained intact, though the system had been repaired many times by the Kota assigned to guard over Lee throughout the years.
Lee looked back at Trok and examined his face. Lee himself had physically aged maybe ten to fifteen years while sleeping. Now middle-aged, his forehead was wrinkled. His hair and beard were peppered gray. His body underneath the medical scrubs appeared only minimally atrophic, though very pale.
“You…” Lee cleared his throat to find his voice. “You were frozen too?”
Trok lifted an eyebrow. “Not exactly. Let the doctors check you over, and then we’ll take you out of here. I’ll explain everything once we’re safely away.”
“These are the Kota?”
“Yes.”
“How long has it been?”
Trok hesitated, knowing this would be hard, but there was no real way to ease into it. “Five hundred years.”
Lee’s eyes widened, but he’d been prepared for this. He asked no more as the doctors finished examining him.
The doctor in charge stood, lowered his x-ray scanner, and turned to Trok. “Sir, he’s as stable as we could’ve hoped. I think we’re safe to move him. He’s weak and groggy, but that’ll wear off soon.”
“Good.” Relieved by this news, Trok focused on the next concern. He lowered his voice so as not to worry Lee. “I don’t want to stay here any longer than necessary. I’m sure Dominion patrols check this place on a daily basis in hopes of intercepting us.”
“Good thing we brought soldiers, then.”
Yes, thought Trok bleakly. Kota soldiers, anyway. And we’ve only got five with us. They’d be no match for Dominion drone soldiers.
“I’d rather we didn’t have to use them,” he told the doctor. “We can’t afford getting caught in a firefight.” He looked down at his brother.
The doctor nodded and turned to help his partners with their patient. Lee seemed curious about why the Kota deferred to Trok, but he allowed himself to be lifted into a wheelchair. Once he was ready, the whole group hurried for the ancient building’s exit.
Outside, the warm sunlight pouring down didn’t bother Trok’s eyes. He looked over the wilderness beyond the crumbling gates, searching for danger. Trok saw Lee take a deep breath of fresh air and close his eyes to feel the sunshine. This once again reminded Trok how disconnected he was from everything around him.
But now Lee’s with me, thought Trok. I’m not as alone anymore. I just hope he can handle this.
“No patrol activity in the area, sir,” called a Kota soldier from his position near a hover hummer.
Trok snapped into action and took over wheeling his brother toward this soldier’s vehicle. “Let’s be sure we’re gone before they arrive.”
“Yes, sir.” The soldier whistled to his partners. “Load up!”
The Kota doctors and soldiers piled into the other vehicles as Trok helped Lee into the backseat of their hover hummer. Once Lee was secure, Trok closed his door and stepped around the vehicle to climb in the other side. He watched as the first hummer started off toward the road.
So far, so good.
Inside the hummer, Trok ordered their driver to go. They took off smoothly, and Trok relaxed enough to face his brother. He remembered the last time they’d been here – at the lab-cave, in a hover vehicle, with a Kota driver.
Things are so different now, he thought.
Lee took a drink from a thermos the doctors gave him. “I don’t think I can wait until we get to wherever it is you’re taking me.” He was coming to life a bit. “What’s happened?”
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About the Author
Sunshine Somerville lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan. She has a degree in English Literature and self-published her first book in 2004. The Kota Series began when she was nine, basing the story on childhood fantasies derived from watching too much X-Men and Star Wars and reading too much Chronicles of Narnia and A Wrinkle in Time.
A Fairly Fairy Tale is Sunshine’s first Children’s Fantasy book. She got the idea from her family’s crest, which portrays a dragon shooting flames from both ends, and from a little girl whose second favorite word is farts.
Thank you for reading The Prophet! Stick around on my mailing list for monthly giveaways and news of new releases!
www.SunshineSomerville.com
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