Prophecy's Promise (Prophecy of the Edges Book 1)

by Lauren Amundson

  Eventually, Bahlym emerged and motioned for me to follow him into the Council room. We entered at the front. Rows of stadium seats arranged similarly to the Keep’s larger lecture halls filled the immense room. The familiarity of the arrangement helped me to breathe a little easier. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the Council,” I began, before realizing that I was the only woman in the room. At least the Empire’s guidelines were consistent in their bigotry. With each injustice, I was having a harder time controlling my urge to Channel my Mist tainted by what I was beginning to assume was Azabin’s anger.

  Releasing a fiery torrent of righteousness would not be productive, only therapeutic for my mood, so I held it in and continued on. “I have been sent to heal our world. I am the Prophecy’s Promise.” A murmur went through the room. “My world has forgotten the Promise, so I am unprepared, but I have been Promised so the Mist will make us ready.”

  I told them of my Apparition. Of Shezdon. Of the journey. Of the capture. Of my world so different from their own. Finally, I finished and stood awkwardly in front of them.

  Silence reigned for a few moments while everyone digested my information. After a long pause, a man stood up and spoke into his little stick that looked nearly identical to the micro audible that reporter had made me speak into. “The religious had predicted a young mother, but that does not mean she can heal The Edges.”

  I raised my nose higher and stood. Anger filling me. “I am not unequipped.”

  “Why is this harlot allowed to argue with me?” he demanded.

  Another man stood up. “The Protocol has been met. The girl from across our Edge has addressed the Council. But we have other customs to uphold and there is a woman in this Council room, directly addressing its members. It’s unacceptable.”

  The general leaned over his micro audible. “We have already trampled upon our traditions enough for one day. We shouldn’t suffer a woman in this room any longer.”

  Bahlym grasped my elbow. “We better leave. You say you are a Warrior. Pick your battles.”

  “That’s ridiculous! “ I hissed to Bahlym as he pulled me from the room.

  “This is how our world is. I warned you.”

  “And to think I thought this culture was more advanced.”

  “I have an idea.” Bahlym smiled, the same sort of smile Meena would have before concocting some crazy scheme. “Challenge one of them to a duel, if you think you can win. You are a Warrior and your command over the Mist rivals that of anyone in that room. That would put an end to this. Technically, you’d even have the right to take his spot on the Council.”

  My hand fluttered absent-mindedly to my stomach.

  “You’ll have to fight much worse than any of those men if you are the Promised. And if you aren’t the Promised, then your child must be, so logic would assume that both of you will be safe.”

  “I’m sure there is some rule against this?” I more asked than stated.

  “My sister has been waiting for a reasonable opportunity and a combatant skilled enough. The Protocols say that no duel challenged can be turned down. It mentions nothing of gender. Trust me; she’s been quite thorough on the matter.”

  I recalled the image of Meena dueling Altis. Since that day, I’d been viewing Meena’s patient strategy as a parable, but Altis had won. Altis started and ended with his audacity. Meena outlasted many, but in the end, still lost. In that moment, the entire metaphor twisted. I needed Altis’s boldness not Meena’s cunning to convert this culture. I needed to surprise the Empire into belief.

  “This is a live broadcastible, correct?” I asked and Bahlym nodded. “Who is the best dueler in all of the Council?”

  “Without a doubt, Councilman Admiral Drahwan Dehdarad. He won his rank and his seat through duels. He’s the best in two hundred years, so don’t pick him. I think a solid choice would be…”

  Ignoring the rest—because I knew that Altis would attack this Drahwan—I strode back into the Council room. “I challenge Councilman Admiral Drahwan Dehdarad to a duel.”

  All eyes turned to a hulk of a man, who I assumed must be Drahwan. His arms were easily thicker than my neck. I probably didn’t even come up to his shoulders. I couldn’t understand his words, but I didn’t need Bahlym to translate.

  “Afraid, Councilman?” I asked.

  He sputtered in the Empire’s language. Bahlym translated. “This woman dares to speak in the Council?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  I could practically feel the twelve million citizens of the capital and the millions of other across the Empire watching me through their broadcastible while General Zirban turned to confer with his staff. I stood with my arms crossed doing my best to look proud and ready to defend the Slices against The Edges.

  All eyes in the room turned toward the general. “My hands are tied,” he announced. “Per Protocol, Hailey Troubade will meet Drahwan Dehdarad tomorrow evening, and they will battle to the death.”

  Chapter 23

  Bahlym, on behalf of his sister, invited me to come back to his family’s apartments. Apparently, it was uncommon for unmarried adult children to move away from their father’s home and mildly scandalous for an unmarried woman to be alone. I felt like a lost puppy trailing after him. I had told him the apartments in the capital for the Promise would be fine in, but he knew as well as I did that I needed a chaperon to lead me through the brambles of the Empire’s steel forest. And he assured me that his sister would like nothing better than to take over the duty of being my guide. Furthermore, he trusted no guards but his own, and finding good, loyal bodyguards couldn’t be done without time and a good recruiter.

  It was only a few blocks away, but we took the flight carriage from the Council building to the tower in which Bahlym’s family lived in order to avoid the crowds. Pandemonium would be an understatement for the chaos in the streets below. Citizens flowed between the buildings. The broadcastible showed scenes of people, wave after wave, walking by chanting. Some shouted, “Protect the Promise,” while others called out, “Protect our children.” Although, I had no idea what children had to do with the Promise, well, besides the one that I carried.

  The flight carriage descended gracefully onto one of the few stone structures in the city. While it would have dwarfed the tallest structure in Gryshelm City, the gigantic metal spikes of the other buildings loomed above it. We descended a flight of stairs. Paintings in colors brighter than I’d ever seen on canvas before adorned the walls. It was as if the artist had captured the very essence of wildflowers—their colors and their spirit. The people in the portraits seemed infused with light. The prismatic colors captured the intense light and heat of a summer day.

  “Ah, yes, my father likes to display my work,” Bahlym said sheepishly, noticing my attention to the paintings. “I try to put them in inconspicuous places. Most people don’t arrive by hovercraft.”

  “They should be displayed more prominently. They are gorgeous.” I gazed at a painting of a pond at night, the stars and moon reflected on the water. I could almost feel the gods gazing down, infused with the starlight. “How often do you paint?”

  “I don’t. Not anymore.”

  “You should.”

  “Responsibilities do not leave time for childish pastimes,” he snapped and turned away from the paintings.

  “I understand. I’ve followed responsibilities instead of my own passions, too,” I said, but he didn’t respond. I followed him down the stairs and into a large, open room. A stunning young woman, perhaps only a few years older than I, and a man in his late fifties perched side by side on a settee. The woman’s legs were crossed and the hem of her brown dress revealed far more leg than any woman in Gryshelm would ever consider, even inside the home. She dangled a black shoe from the tip of her toe.

  “Adara, thank the Guardians you are home!” Bahlym said, hugging the woman. “I was worried that you’d get it in your head to go out and join that insanity down there.”

  “I might have.” Her eyes twinkl
ed with mischief. “But I couldn’t wait to meet the Promise.” She curtsied to me, her glossy black hair falling in front of her face like a curtain. “Women were first allowed into university when we learned that the Prophecy’s Promise was to be a woman.”

  “Not before?” I couldn’t keep the horror from my voice.

  “No! And you have challenged a man to a duel and he accepted! This is history.” Her plump lips curved in a smile.

  “One can hardly dispute that an educated woman will be an even greater asset to her sons,” the man said, “but I do not see the benefits of a pregnant woman dueling a grown man simply to prove a point.”

  “Adara’s fiancé, Merehan Dehdarad,” Bahlym said dryly.

  “Dehdarad?” I asked, recalling the name of the Councilman that I’d challenged.

  “Yes, but my nephew is highly insufferable, so I don’t begrudge the challenge. It was quite enjoyable seeing his face when you threw down the glove. I don’t think he’s been at a loss for words since birth.”

  “Merehan, don’t be modest. Wordsmithing is a family blessing,” Bahlym teased.

  “I cannot dispute, only redirect,” he acknowledged. “Where is my future father-in-law this evening?”

  “Called away on urgent business to the South, I’m afraid,” Bahlym said. “Adara, don’t pout; he’ll meet our new friend soon enough.”

  Adara was momentarily pouting, but then turned quizzically to me. “Is it true what the reporters said about you having a mental block? I thought maybe Merehan could help.”

  “The young woman has had enough traumas over the past few days. Perhaps something so drastic as removing such a block should wait for her to regain her emotional balance,” Bahlym suggested.

  “Emotional balance obtained. I want this block gone now,” I declared without hesitation. “I’ve spent too long only knowing half of who I am. I want to know the whole of it as soon as possible.”

  “See, brother,” Adara said. “We’re not fragile creatures.”

  “What needs to be done?” I asked.

  “As a psychotherapist, I’ve experience in both placing and lifting memory blocks.” At my shocked expression, he added, “But sometimes, forgetting is a blessing. Are you sure you want to see that which has been hidden?”

  “Without hesitation,” I declared. “There is no knowledge that I fear.”

  “Very well. Let’s get started then.”

  “Now?”

  “If you are ready for it,” Bahlym said.

  “I’m ready.”

  Adara clapped her hands in excitement. “Nothing so interesting has happened here before.”

  Merehan guided me to a chair then pulled another up in front of me. “I can feel the pattern across our Edge. Across our Edge,” he repeated. “That’s unbelievable. The Mist feels the same, but the vibrations are off.” I could feel him Weaving, but I could still not feel the block. Although I imagine that was part of the sophistication of the pattern. If the person with blocked memories knew the block was there, then the block would be significantly less effective. “Let go,” Merehan commanded.

  “Of what?”

  “Of the block,” he replied.

  “I’m not holding on.”

  Merehan stood up, letting the threads of his woven Mist tumble to disarray. “You are holding on, even if you are not aware. As I said, sometimes forgetting is a blessing. Maybe you don’t want to remember.”

  “I do.” My voice sounded angrier than I’d intended.

  “You are fighting. Your control of the Mist far is too strong. If I push too hard, you could push back unintentionally, and I do not doubt your ability to grievously injure me.”

  “Maybe we can try again later?” Adara suggested.

  “Of course. I’ve probably loosened the edges of the pattern somewhat. Perhaps next time, we will get further.” Merehan sat back and considered me for a few moments. “As an aside, I’m no longer concerned for your safety tomorrow. I’m concerned for Drahwan’s.”

  A servant entered the room and said something to us. “Dinner is ready,” Adara translated for me, taking my arm. “I am so very excited that you are here, in my house. I’ve been working so hard for equal rights and finally there is hope!”

  Dinner consisted of roasted lamb, root vegetables, and a dark spherical grain that I’d not seen before. The food seemed to be steeped in salt and contained no other discernible spices. I sat back and listened to Adara and Bahlym share stories of their youth, but it was soon evident to everyone that I struggled to stay awake. Even outside of the past day and a half, I’d had too much excitement and not enough rest. Adara led me to a guest bedroom.

  Closing the door, I sank to the ground, pulling my long hair back from my face. I tried to breathe slowly. After a few minutes, I stood up and walked over to a sink. Splashing cold water on my face didn’t help.

  I hadn’t been in this world more than a day and a half, but it seemed like a lifetime. Already I have touched foot on land that no Gryshelmian had in a thousand years, filled with customs and mores so alien to my own, many of which I have thoroughly insulted and ignored. I have taken personal ownership over the completion of the Prophecy that would ultimately destroy the world if I failed. I have seen the Mist woven in ways I could not have ever imagined. I have learned that I am to be a mother. I have met new friends and made new enemies. And I’ve agreed to fight in a duel. A duel to the death.

  I prepared for sleep, and then crawled into the bed. I dug the locket from my bag and laid it beside my head on the pillow. Tonight, Altis dined in a public house. The raucous music filled my ears. He sat in a shadowed corner, observing the merriment. I closed the locket, stroking the gilded front, and drifted to sleep like a bottle tossed into the middle of the ocean, quietly rocking, but all alone. The message inside hidden, maybe lost.

  I am standing in a tiny cottage, my childhood home. Euan holds my hand. My father brings home a clock that has a bird pop out and remind us of each hour. A girl, her name is Sara, hops up and touches it and it starts to melt, oozing down the wall toward her. I want to run over to her, but I cannot move. Roots of a giant tree growing inside the house attach my feet to the ground. The bird from the clock pops out. Coo Coo. It is a hawk, not a cute sparrow or a blue jay. It does not go back into the clock. It flies to the tree. A feather falls to my feet. I tell Euan to leave. He doesn’t want to, but I tell him to go make sure Brody is okay, so he leaves. I try to move. Still cannot. I push against the tree, but now we are on a mountain. The clock is still there and so is the tree. The hawk calls a warning. Sara looks up at the clock as it floats in the air continuing to drip toward her face. I don’t know why, but I must help the girl. I yell, but she doesn’t hear me. My mother comes to pull Sara away. Her back is to me. I cannot see her face. The clock explodes. Both of them disappear. Tiny shards of the clock fly at my face. I still cannot move. Nazarie is there, blocking me from the explosion. I am safe. I am in the tree. I look down at Nazarie, watching as she picks up each tiny piece of clock dust, smiling at them. Holding her hand flat she blows them at my father.

  I woke up sticky with sweat. I knew that the dream was my own. No Mist forced it into being, but I hadn’t dreamed of my family before. Had Merehan succeeded in opening a tiny crack of my memory block? Was the dream my subconscious trying to cast off the Mist threads of the block? Or was I overwhelmed to the point of having nightmares? I didn’t know.

  Chapter 24

  “No, you don’t understand,” Adara said impatiently over breakfast the next morning. “This won’t be an easy duel. He’s good.”

  “How good?” I asked.

  “Very.” Sliding the silver tray across the table, she selected another thin pastry, sprinkled with raisins, cinnamon, and chopped nuts and slathered it with a thick fruity jam. “He was a… well known… followed…” I didn’t know the word for celebrity in Cuneiform, either, so I nodded my head so that she would continue. “That’s how he became popular enough to challenge a former Council m
ember to a duel and ultimately win his own Council seat. It’s practically a religion of its own here. You’ve seen the broadcastibles, right?” she asked. “Practically the whole world will tune in to watch this duel. No one challenges Drahwan anymore, and of course, there has never been a female competitor before.”

  I picked up a pastry and bit into it. The sweet combination of flavors was far from anything I’d had before, but very tasty. “So it’s been a long time since he’s fought?”

  “Not really. I hear he practices daily, usually him verses ten to twelve of his own personal guard.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Well, if you win, it will really show that women are as capable as men. More even.”

  “If I lose? The Prophecy doesn’t exactly cover my ability to duel.”

  Adara shrugged. “He is undefeated, which is not a small thing. He’s fought over a hundred duels, but he never leaves his opponents alive. You couldn’t have come through our Edge if you weren’t the Promise. You can’t die until you start the Prophecy. Logically, it follows that you will win.”

  “Fantastic,” I said again. “What was I thinking? Solely because a millennium ago a prophecy predicted that someone would come save the world doesn’t mean I could win a duel against a champion.”

  “You are destined to defeat Azabin. Drahwan is nothing in comparison to a monster created by the gods. You’ll be fine,” Adara said matter-of-factly.

  “I think that I’m destined to fight him. The Promise doesn’t guarantee winning.”

  Adara pondered this for a moment and looked a bit relived when a metallic clang sounded. She rushed over to a little box and began speaking into it in the language that I didn’t understand. She paused to listen, and then spoke again. She turned around to me. “Drahwan is downstairs. He wishes to speak with you.”

  Bahlym, who had come into the kitchen when the box had been ringing, shook his head adamantly, “Absolutely not. There is no scenario that makes it appropriate for a man to call unbidden upon a young woman, nor should a challenged approach a challenger.”