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

by Lauren Amundson

  The army remained suspended above me. “Maybe you are a decoy from the Empire?”

  I lifted Shezdon’s book above my head. It was the only thing that might convince them. The people overhead began to murmur amongst themselves until Desha raised her arm. Obediently, they became silent again. So, they did recognize the book.

  “What Mist binds this book?” Desha demanded. “The tapestry is as beautiful as it is dangerous.” The book rose from my hands and spun as if in the center of a cyclone. After a moment, she floated to the ground and landed with an echoing thud. The book stopped spinning and came to rest before the woman as if it was lying on a table. She stroked the cover gently then flipped through the pages of the book. “The pages are blank!” she said in an accusatory tone.

  “Not to me.” I could hear the tremor in my own voice, but I raised my chin. “To all but me, the pages look blank. And that is the proof that I am the Promise.”

  “How can we know that you can read the book?”

  “You don’t. And I can’t read the book, not exactly. I can only see the letters. The language itself is lost to my Slice. But this is the book: The Edging of the World. It is from my Slice. If we were from the Empire and trying to trick you, we’d never bring the book with us. It’s too valuable. That’s why the Empire tried to take it from me. That’s why we fled.”

  “Your words make sense,” Desha acknowledged. “But you came from the Empire, and they are as treacherous as a scorpion. You are tainted by them.” She spat the words. The flying army roared in agreement.

  “By the Guardians! There is much more at stake than the poor diplomatic relationships between two countries on a single Slice,” I said, frustration overcoming my trepidation. “The Edges are growing. Innocent people on both sides of our Edge are dying. And possibly innocent people near all the Edges. You may be far inland, but an Edge will be here one day. All we need from you is a safe and quiet place for me to decipher this book so I can fulfill my damn destiny!”

  “Fairly said,” Desha acknowledged. “You are welcome, but the Empirites must return home.”

  “In helping me escape they gave up their home. We all come or we all leave.”

  “Loyalty to your friends. Admirable. But we harbored those of the Empire before.”

  “And from what I hear, it did not end well for the Empire,” I said, recalling that flattery was often the best diplomatic tool.

  She considered me for a few moments. “Fine. Leave the craft here. We will not allow its tainted Mist any closer to our homes. You and your friends may come with us.”

  “Thank you.” Relief rushed through me. Before that moment, I hadn’t let myself think what our option would be if the Mitanni did not take us in. I hurried back into the hovercraft and helped Bahlym shuffle the packs around. Bahlym pointed out that the city was nowhere in sight and that we’d have to leave behind what we couldn’t easily carry. We abandoned nearly seventy percent of the gold pieces we’d brought with us. With luck, the prices in the Mitanni’s city wouldn’t be too astronomically high and the gold we could carry would support us, financially, while I learned how to read the book.

  Bahlym held up the painting that I’d rescued. In the painting, a river meandered beneath a sky exploding with oranges, reds, and pinks. A figure in a short blue dress looked out toward the horizon. “Did you pick this one on purpose?”

  “No. I grabbed one.”

  “I finished this painting the day I agreed to run my father’s business. The girl in red is you,” he traced his finger along the horizon. “It is the Promise gazing over the landscape after an Edge has been removed. It’s the first sunset, right before the first star winks on and the gods realize that it’s over. That Azabin is dead and humans will survive.”

  I moved to put my hand on his shoulder, wanting to comfort him, but he shook his head. So I left. I turned back before closing the door. The sight of Bahlym holding the painting, tears streaming down his face, is something I will never forget.

  Adara took my arm in hers. “I think he wanted this all along,” she tried to assure me. “He hated not becoming a priest and staying a cleric.”

  But I did not think that Bahlym’s tears were remorse. He’d been torn between the two lives once, just like I had been. But he had made his choice and, from that moment on, was not the same person, just as I was not the same person. I’d assumed he hid the paintings in the back hallways because his paintings were private. I’d meant the painting to comfort him, but I had misjudged. I did not press him when he exited the hovercraft, eyes and nose red.

  Most of the Mitanni flew back to their city, but it was immediately obvious that neither Adara, Bahlym, nor I had ever attempted self-levitation and would have to walk to the city. Desha left us in the charge of a wrinkled woman, face leathered by the sun, who introduced herself simply as Kirta. I was pleasantly surprised that Desha didn’t leave any guards.

  The four of us began the arduous trek to the city. Adara probably didn’t own a single pair of shoes that would accommodate the steep incline up the rocky trail. The ones she wore today were a shining example of Empirite indulgence. Literally. Bright silver beads coated the slender stiletto, which was about as long and thin as my index finger. A dozen neon blue straps secured her foot to the metallic platform.

  “Are you okay to walk in those?” I whispered to her.

  She nodded, but pain was obvious on her face.

  “We need to stop,” I announced, pulling my bag around and rummaging through it. I found my pair of riding boots. “Put these on.”

  “I will not. Those look disgusting,” she said under her breath.

  “What are you wearing?” Kirta asked, noticing Adara’s shoes. “Are those some sort of torture device?”

  “No! These were made by Farhed Nazzeer. He’s one of the top designers in the city,” Adara protested indignantly. But when it was clear that none of us would continue on until she changed into the more reasonable shoes that I presented, she relented. Soon, shoes were the least of our problems. None of us, besides the old woman, was used to the thin mountain air or the physical exertion. She waited patiently as we took break after break. Eventually, Kirta simply took Adara’s pack and slung it over her own shoulder, silently bounding forward like a damned mountain goat.

  Thankfully, the trek was difficult, but not dangerous. The wide path gave way to sheer drops, but nearly all of those were bordered by rickety fencing. Not that I’d trust the fencing with even the force of one of the strong gusts, but it did make me feel better. Truth be told, I didn’t know why people who could fly would care about bridges, but we wouldn’t have managed without them.

  Citrus groves and vineyards adorned the landscape, giving way to wild forests followed by lush fields of crops. From time to time, we’d see vibrant purple, yellow, or blue painted little cottages hanging off the sides of the mountains, each one an engineering marvel that it did not tumble down the cliffs. I couldn’t tell how they could have reinforced the floors, but they were all very far off the path. Once or twice, I thought I saw children peering at us from behind the thick foliage along the path, but other than that, the people of the valleys remained out of sight.

  Eventually, we made it. We rounded a corner and the city sparkled into view. It adorned the pinnacle of the highest mountain like a cake topper. For the next half hour, as the road snaked higher and higher, the switchbacks in the path made the city seem to peek-a-boo with us from behind the mountains. There were no walls, but the location itself was fortification enough. The views from the city must expose the entire vicinity for hundreds of miles. The path to the Mitanni’s city had been too narrow for locomobiles and in many places had required us to walk single file. No wonder the Mitanni so thoroughly devastated the Empire in their war. Their capital city was practically unreachable.

  Through this whole trip, nothing had made me as homesick as seeing something I knew my friends would love to see. Meena would adore the pale pink stone that stacked together to make four
- and five-story buildings. Every window displayed colorful curtains that flapped gently in the breeze. Most doors were flung wide open, ushering the energy of the city morning into their homes and stores. The undulation of the ground did not end when we passed into the city proper. Steps were inserted into the road every few yards. Sometimes it was a full flight of steps. Sometimes up and sometimes down. The walls of the buildings followed the road, turning basements into second floors over the course of a block.

  I wondered what these people would think of Gryshelm’s austere muddy-brown, steepled buildings accented only with splotches of black, white, and red, and the nearly level landscape upon which it perched. Would they find my city stately or stuffy?

  As we walked through the city, I recognized the baker, several merchants, and other people I passed as members of the flying army. I realized that it had been a militia. Perhaps that is why they didn’t feel the need to surround us with guards. The average citizen held more power than Gryshelm’s best Warrior Weavers. We were hardly a threat.

  Kirta ushered us through the city. She transformed from taciturn to tour-guide, stopping from time to time to point out the local sites. Down one street there were food markets. Down another were the schools. Along the way, she asked if we would like to see another chiseled statue of their wondrous former leaders.

  I interrupted her before she could delve into another lengthy explanation. “I know that you are tasked with delaying us while your leaders determine what to do,” I said. Her hazel eyes unabashedly acknowledged the truth of my statement, a half smile hinted at approval of my directness. “But you are baby-sitting two scholars and a politician. We are not used to excitement. We are used to quiet days punctuated with solid meals. We’d happily remain distracted, but we are famished and sore from that hike.”

  She squinted at me, giving only a passing glance to Adara and Bahlym, “You see yourself as a scholar?” she said.

  “That’s what I am.” I shrugged. “Or would have been.” Belatedly, I wondered how she knew that I was referring to myself as the Scholar.

  “Child, I consider myself a simple grandmother, but could best the greatest warrior in the Empire given the opportunity. Do not limit yourself by your self-definition.” She wagged her gnarled finger at me.

  “I’m doing the best I can.”

  “After many years, I’ve found that’s all that you can hope for,” Kirta said cryptically. “And what about you two from the Empire? Which is the scholar and which is the politician?”

  “My lady, as of a few hours ago, we are not of the Empire. We have no country,” Bahlym said.

  “I think you are the politician?” she said to Bahlym and continued without waiting for a response. “That walk did take a while. Let’s see what we can do to get you children a nice old-fashioned mountain lunch.” At Bahlym’s frown, she flashed a blindingly white set of teeth and patted him on the cheek. “I consider anyone younger than forty winters a child. Come. We will finish the tour once your bellies are full.”

  We turned down an alley, passing children playing. One boy levitated a doll above a younger girl’s hands as she cried and jumped for it. At Kirta’s look, the boy dropped the Mist that bound the toy. “I’m sorry, Grandmother,” he muttered.

  “Do you know them?” I asked.

  “In a way,” she smiled.

  Suddenly I realized that all the people that I had assumed were staring at Bahlym, Adara, and me during our tour were also staring at Kirta.

  Grandmother? Probably.

  Simple? Definitely not.

  Chapter 28

  Kirta opened a neon blue door accented with deep purple dots arranged in a spiral and shepherded us through. Desha was inside speaking in hushed tones with a man who was about her age– early-to-mid thirties, but stopped and stood when we entered. “You two have your own houses,” Kirta said. “Why are you in mine?”

  “Because we know you, Grandmother.” The man kissed her cheek. “You’ve brought the travelers home for some lunch. Although it did take you significantly longer than I’d have thought.”

  “Would you two like some lunch, as well?” Kirta asked as she scurried off. Soon banging and rustling sounds punctuated the silence. I knew that I should try to talk with Desha and the man or at least introduce myself to him, but I was too exhausted. I plopped down on a bright pink sofa under the window. Bahlym and Adara meekly sat next to me, one on either side.

  “Rcanian thinks that I am too trusting, allowing these Outsiders to roam our streets,” Desha said, raising her voice so that Kirta could hear.

  “I do not doubt the Promise, only the Empire,” the other man, Rcanian, retorted. “I would say that I simply wanted to make sure you were safe, but I think only the Promise has enough power to be capable of even messing up your bun. The other two are weak. They’ve been pacified by turning on stale Mist their whole lives.”

  Beside me, Bahlym tensed, insulted. I put my hand on his shoulder.

  Rcanian disappeared down the same hallway Kirta had taken. After a few moments, Kirta and Rcanian reemerged and presented us with a pitcher of red wine, some bread, orange jam, and dried beetles. They arranged the food on the low table in front of the sofa as Desha located glasses for us inside a cupboard.

  “Our young politician has wisely pointed out that he is no longer from the Empire. They would kill these two as swiftly as they did Krineem.” Kirta ripped off a piece of bread and sat on the ground next to the table. “These two Empirites are no threat.”

  “Not a threat on purpose,” Rcanian said. “Outsiders bring chaos. And chaos brings change.”

  “Outsiders will not cause the Mitanni to change,” Desha said.

  “They already have,” Rcanian told her. “Didn’t you hear the hushed whispers? Maybe they speak more easily around me. I don’t claim the burden of rule.” He swirled his wine in its glass, observing the patterns left by the liquid as it tricked down. “Outsiders, Promise, and People alike, we all need to tread carefully. I sense tribulation. We will not be isolated for much longer.”

  “Is that Foretold?” Desha asked, grabbing his arm.

  “Only partially. That’s what I wanted to discuss with you.” He set down his glass. “This morning, I Foretold myself taking upon the Burden of Rule and I Foretold your attempt to keep it. And now they are here. I do not want to rule, but something has started.”

  “I would never do that. As the Chief Priest, I am your steward,” Desha protested, her tone sounded offended. “The priests will always be loyal.”

  Rcanian shrugged unapologetically. “I know what I Foretold.”

  “Like dreams, what is Foretold is symbolic,” Kirta cautioned. “Desha would never deny either of us our birthright.”

  “You are able to sense the future?” I asked.

  “My grandson and I both,” Kirta told me. “While many call me Grandmother, Rcanian is my only actual grandchild.”

  “They can either Rule or Foretell,” Desha explained. “But, if either Kirta or Rcanian chose the Burden of Rule over Foretelling, I’d step aside in a second. In a second,” she repeated, forcefully.

  “It’s not much of a choice. Who would give up the gift of true foresight?” Rcanian smiled.

  “So you turned over your rightful rule?” Bahlym asked Rcanian.

  Rcanian shrugged. “There is so much more we can do to help our people through the sight.”

  “I think that’s so selfless,” Adara gushed. “And you follow a woman? That would never happen in the Empire. It’s quite remarkable.” Adara looked up at Rcanian demurely through her thick eyelashes, and Rcanian’s cheeks went momentarily red.

  I willed myself not to kick Adara. We definitely did not need any complications. My mind flitted to Altis and my own complications. He was probably snuggled with his princess right now. I pushed the thought of him aside. “Has either of you Foretold how to unbind the book?” I asked.

  Kirta shook her head sadly. “The Promise’s Counter prevents much of the Foretel
ling. The outcome is too uncertain.”

  “But I feel the power each of you has over the Mist. Can you break the Binding on the book?” Bahlym asked.

  “No. The Binding is too interwoven into the book. Any lifting could cause irreversible damage,” Desha said.

  “Perhaps we are approaching the problem from the wrong direction,” I proposed. “Whoever bound the book did so to keep anyone from reading it. Why didn’t they destroy it?” I waited for a moment to see if the others were catching on. But of course, I’d been thinking about this whole puzzle since the moment Shezdon first gave me the book. “Because the Mist of the Prophecy’s Promise was too strong.”

  Understanding dawned on Adara’s face. “They couldn’t destroy the book, but they could counter. They did the next best thing,”

  “Not bad for a prissy Empirite,” Rcanian said.

  “Yes!” I responded excitedly, Adara and I both ignoring Rcanian’s comment. “It’s starting to make sense. I have to be able to read it, but if I cannot decipher the text, then the words might as well not be there. So they destroyed the language. But, I’m a Scholar. I could learn.”

  “Who is ‘they’?” Bahlym asked.

  “That’s what I’ve been wondering. Obviously a power on my Slice. A secret conspiracy that has duped even governments. I can tell you one thing. Whoever they are, we will have questions for them. My aunt is an important person on my Slice. She’ll see to it.”

  Kirta’s hand fluttered to her mouth. “Aunt you say? A powerful aunt?”

  “Yes…” I answered, unsure of what she was getting at.

  Kirta’s eyes opened wide. She gasped in and stared, unblinking, at the ceiling.