Prophecy of Darkness

by Stella Howard

  “Gabrielle, we should introduce ourselves,” Xena cut in smoothly. Gabrielle had a tendency to talk a situation to death, all they needed now was for her to make up something that could be proved a lie—then they’d really be up a creek.

  The middle-aged man who stopped in front of them had the stern, unsmiling face of someone with little or no sense of humor, dressed in the simple white robes of a cleric or some other holy official. Before Xena could say anything, the man spoke to Gabrielle.

  “You knew someone who lived here?” His voice was rough and gravelly.

  Gabrielle had the good grace to shoot a quick, embarrassed glance at Xena, obviously, she realized her mistake. She then smiled at the man and rolled her eyes self-consciously.

  “Oh, me and my memory! I was thinking of—Oesitrus, that’s a town over on the coast. But this is Osetus, right?”

  The cleric nodded slowly, somewhat suspiciously, then turned his gaze to Xena and Alesandra and spoke harshly. “I see your sword, woman. What business do you have here?”

  Xena kept the smile on her face but bristled inwardly, almost wishing that she were still the old Xena—her previous self would have taught this piggish man a thing or two about manners . . .

  “My name is Xena, and I’m traveling with my companion, Gabrielle, and our ward, Alesandra. This child is an orphan, and we are journeying south to search for her relatives. We had heard that she might have an uncle this way . . .”

  The man frowned. “Where is this uncle supposed to be?”

  Xena gritted her teeth, hard. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name . . . ?”

  He frowned at her for another long second, then nodded slightly, his brow easing. “Excuse my manners. I am Saji, one of the three town leaders of Osetus and First Father of the Worshipers to Ling, the God of Truthful Pith—as was my father before me.” Saji seemed to swell with pride at the sound of his own title, Xena could actually hear him capitalize the letters.

  Pith? What’s pith? Xena tilted her head to one side quizzically, realizing that making a joke right now could be dangerous—too bad.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know of Ling,” she said, keeping her tone respectful. Saji had the slightly strained and self-righteous look of a religious fanatic, and poking fun at such a man would be a mistake—particularly if this town was full of men like him. Xena was glad that he hadn’t recognized her name, at least—a closed-off religious community like this probably didn’t know much of the outside world.

  He seemed to relax a bit more, on familiar territory now, and his manner became patronizing and more than a little insulting. “Pith is the essence, the core of all that is life. Ling is the god of this core, the beginning and end to all that we see. He is the god of everything that man can touch with his hands, a denial of the evil that comes from flights of spirit—for the spirit that leaves the body is forever tainted. The body, like the land, must never go untended.”

  As Saji spoke, several of the townspeople behind him nodded, some of them even touching their own faces—some kind of religious gesture, Xena supposed, smiling nicely as if she understood the rhetoric of Ling. She tried to steer him elsewhere, without seeming disrespectful. “Well, as I said—we’re looking for kin to this girl, and we know only that this uncle lives in the south, if he lives at all. Perhaps he’s here? His name is—” Xena grasped quickly for a name, “Vanid, he’s an oat farmer.”

  Saji shook his head. “No, there’s no one in Osetus by that name. And only those who worship Ling are welcome to settle here.”

  He looked at Xena’s sword again, and at her chakra. “We don’t welcome trouble—but if you’re just passing through, I won’t take away your weapons . . .”

  Xena smiled and nodded, thinking that if he even tried, she’d give him a headache he wouldn’t soon forget.

  “I must ask, though,” he continued, “are you or your companions believers in the evils of sorcery or trained in the visions of foul prophecy that by nature denies the goodness of Ling?”

  Gabrielle had been watching this exchange closely, and kept a smile on her face as she shook her head along with Alesandra, following Xena’s lead. Xena was glad that Gabrielle had learned to keep a straight face in dire situations. Lying wasn’t a favorite hobby of Gabrielle’s, but there was more at stake here than just her honesty, Alesandra would not be able to defend herself.

  Xena handled him easily, acting mildly surprised. “No, we’re not trained in anything like that. We would just like to buy a few supplies and then move on—if that’s all right with you.”

  Saji nodded. “Fine. You can find some dried goods and some fabric for sale at the shop of Trilo, over there.” He pointed to a small, dirty building next to a stable. “And if you’re seeking merchandise, the widow Leus makes leather cups and bowls and sells them out of the second temple—you would have passed it on the road in. The ironsmith works out of the stables.”

  He bowed stiffly at the three of them, his lined face still solemn, almost angry. “Again, forgive my manners. We don’t get many visitors here.”

  “Gee, I wonder why,” whispered Gabrielle, as soon as he was well out of hearing distance. “He’s so charming.”

  The other townsfolk seemed to lose interest as Saji left; they wandered away to wherever it was they had been headed before.

  Xena dismounted and Gabrielle helped Alesandra off of Argo. The girl was nervous, her light brown eyes flashing with anxiety.

  “What if they find out?” Alesandra whispered. “What did he mean? I’m not foul or evil!”

  Xena glanced around quickly. “Quietly, okay? No, of course you’re not. The people here are practicing a religion that says prophecy is bad, that’s all—they don’t know any better.” She smiled gently. “You have nothing to worry about; we’ll just buy a few things and be out of here before you know it.”

  Alesandra nodded, but her gaze was still uneasy. “I guess I know now why Otus never brought me along,” she whispered. “All he ever told me was that I wouldn’t like it.”

  Gabrielle took Alesandra’s hand. “Well, he was right, wasn’t he?”

  Alesandra nodded, and the three of them surveyed the town silently. There was an oppressive feel to the place, as if nobody laughed much, or sang. Even the staring children that passed by, pulled along by their stem mothers, didn’t seem to be as active and happy as children were supposed to be.

  “Let’s get this over with,” said Xena, and they walked toward the shop that Saji had pointed out for dried goods, leading Argo along. She looked around for some place to tie him, but there were no hitching posts to be seen.

  She sighed. “Gabrielle, why don’t you and Alesandra stay here with Argo? I’ll be quick.”

  Gabrielle nodded, taking the reins. She looked around at the lengthening shadows, the afternoon sun still bright yet somehow desolate against the dusty road. “Hurry, okay?”

  Xena nodded and stepped toward the open-air shop, ducking beneath the low wooden overhang. It wasn’t ten paces from where Gabrielle and Alesandra waited, which made her feel better about leaving them; Osetus was a bit too strange for comfort.

  Xena had traveled through religious villages before, and for the most part, they had been peaceful places. The men and women who chose that life were generally just looking for a safe and loving environment in which to raise their families, and weren’t especially quick to judge others. Osetus, on the other hand, seemed like the kind of town where harsh judgment was not only accepted but encouraged.

  A short, darkly bearded man, presumably Trilo, stepped out of a back room to greet her. He looked her up and down with the same suspicious gaze that Saji had, and spoke gruffly.

  “What do you want?”

  Xena looked over the stocked shelves that lined the back wall, nodding to herself. Not a bad selection for so small a town; the God of Pith must be very proud. “Two rounds of bread . . . a
haunch of that dried meat . . .” She saw several bags of dried apples and smiled inwardly. Gabrielle would tear into those like there was no tomorrow. “And three of those sacks of apples.”

  She reached into her money pouch for a few pieces of silver while Trilo tied her purchases together, and then she glanced out of the shop; a young woman and her small daughter were approaching Gabrielle and Alesandra, smiling hesitantly. The little girl was reaching up to pet Argo, her eyes wide and shining.

  In spite of the pleasant scene, Xena suddenly felt anxious; they had to leave—she felt it in her gut, and she never questioned her instincts. She dropped a few coins on the counter and scooped up the parcel, hurrying outside to join them.

  The young mother had reached out to pat Alesandra on the head, and Alesandra was taking the woman’s hand in her own, smiling—

  —and then a strange expression flitted across Alesandra’s face. Xena saw a light come into those honey-colored eyes, and somehow Alesandra suddenly seemed older, wiser—

  “You’re with child,” Alesandra said softly, her voice deeper and more mature than her normal, light tone. She spoke as if in some kind of trance, as if taken over by a spirit older than her own, yet still her own, it seemed. An older Alesandra, perhaps, returning to speak through her younger self.

  “A son, and he will have his father’s dark eyes. He won’t be an ironsmith like your husband, but will take to the land, growing crops. He’ll be healthy and strong, but will break his arm when he’s a child, climbing a tree. Don’t fear, it will heal well. He will be creative, too, as your own mother was—”

  Xena rushed forward and pulled Alesandra away from the woman, grinning easily. “Alesandra, are you making up stories again? Please excuse her, she has quite an imagination—”

  It was too late. The young woman had picked up her daughter and was backing away from them, a look of terror on her plain face. Alesandra shook herself, looking around confusedly, and then stepped toward the woman and child.

  “Wait, please! I’m not bad, that’s not bad—”

  The woman held up her daughter like a shield and started to babble, softly at first but rising quickly to a shout.

  “Witch, a witch—how could she know? I haven’t told him yet; nobody knows that I am with child! No one! A witch, the child is a witch! The child is a witch!”

  Gabrielle grabbed the packages from Xena and shielded Alesandra as the warrior pulled her sword—and the townspeople of Osetus poured out into the street, angry and shouting.

  Chapter 10

  They were surrounded. As the woman with the little girl continued to scream, the townsfolk all gathered around Xena, Gabrielle, and the frightened Alesandra, and shouted in confused, panicky voices.

  Xena spun, looking for an exit, but there was no way to get them out of danger without hacking a path through the unarmed crowd. She saw no glints of steel, no flash of arrow; these were simpler folk, not fighters—angry but not necessarily dangerous, at least not yet. She wouldn’t want to injure any of these fumbling zealots, which would surely happen if it came down to fighting—

  But they will not harm any of us, either.

  Xena resettled the heft of her sword, her grip loose and ready.

  “What is this? Quiet, all of you! Quiet!”

  The shouts died down as Saji cried out for silence, stalking into the circle of people. He turned toward the young woman and her daughter.

  “Tura, what happened?”

  Tura stammered out a reply, watching Alesandra with fearful eyes. “The child touched me—and foretold!”

  A hush fell over the mob as they found a focus for their anger, their eyes turning toward Alesandra. She stared miserably at the ground, her slender jaw quivering.

  “What did she say?” Saji spoke softly, but his voice was full of cold menace.

  Tura clutched at her daughter, still obviously afraid. A burly man wearing the leather apron of an ironsmith stepped out of the crowd and put his arm around her, encouraging her to speak.

  “She—she said that I was with child!” Tura whispered raggedly, her tone suggesting that Alesandra had told her to expect leprosy soon.

  Saji seemed to mull this over for a moment, biting at his lip as he did so. He finally looked up at the giant man who held Tura. “Barus?”

  The ironsmith, Barus apparently, looked at his wife in turn.

  Tura nodded at him. “I believe it true, husband. I did not plan to tell you until I knew for sure.” Fresh tears welled up in the woman’s eyes, and her voice shook and strained as she grew almost hysterical in manner.

  “The witch said that he would have your eyes, and would take to the land . . . Barus, what are we to do? I had so wanted a son with you, and now this—Barus, it is evil!”

  At her final words, the crowd seemed to move closer, muttering prayers and curses alike in harsh and blackly malicious tones. Argo whinnied nervously, and Xena raised her sword high; if it came to hacking their way out, so it would be—

  Saji held up a hand, stilling the mob. He turned to Xena, his expression grim. “Is this true?”

  Xena didn’t waver, keeping her sword raised. “No. She is not a witch, and she’s not evil.”

  Saji didn’t seem concerned by the shining weapon. “But she foretold the birth of a son by Tura?”

  “Yes. And I would think that Barus and Tura would be happy, knowing that they’re to be blessed with a healthy child. There are many who would feel gratitude, or—”

  “Blasphemy,” someone in the crowd whispered. Several others nodded, their eyes cold.

  Saji glowered angrily. “You lied to me. You said that none of you were trained in this evil!”

  Xena shook her head. “I told the truth. The girl is untrained; her prophecy is a gift from birth.”

  “We don’t welcome such ‘gifts’ here! The god Ling does not suffer such . . . such insult!” Saji’s voice was that of a preacher now, his gravelly tone rising in self-righteous fury as he addressed the mob. “The child has forever cursed the lives of Barus and Tura with her foul prophecy! Don’t you see, my people, that we are all infected now? That we live and die together, work together—are cursed together, by the misfortunes to even one of us?”

  The group of villagers muttered and murmured louder in dark agreement. Xena moved closer to Gabrielle and Alesandra, ready to defend first, always defense first.

  Gabrielle hugged Alesandra tighter, looking around at the villagers. “Well, hey, we can see that we’re not welcome,” she said, a bit too brightly. “We’ll just get out of your town, you know, hit the dusty trail and leave you guys alone.”

  Saji ignored her and spoke directly to Alesandra, who was still somehow holding back her tears. “By the Declarations of Ling, you have tainted the happiness and prosperity of the ironsmith Barus and his family with your evil. Because of you, Ling may choose to disown them, as punishment. That so, Barus, iron smith and husband to Tura of Osetus, now has the right to decide your punishment.”

  Xena lowered her sword slightly, but stayed alert to sudden movement. “No. I am responsible for bringing her here, and I will take whatever punishment is to be given.”

  Alesandra looked up at her fearfully. “No! It’s my fault. I didn’t mean to say anything, but when she touched me, it was such good news, I thought she’d be happy—I thought that maybe she could see that it’s not bad, I’m not bad!”

  Xena kept her cool gaze on Saji’s. “I take responsibility. Agreed?”

  Saji looked to Barus, who glanced at his sobbing wife and then nodded, his huge face angry and flushed, dark eyes flashing. Saji turned back to Xena.

  “Agreed.”

  Barus stepped toward them, slowly clenching and unclenching his giant, calloused fists, the muscles in his arms flexing with power. He was easily a half head taller than Xena, and probably outweighed her by four stone.

  �
��Throw down your weapons,” he growled, pulling off his apron as he walked closer, tossing it to the ground. “I’m going to kill you with my bare hands. If you survive, which you won’t, then maybe you can leave with your soulless skins—but if you die, we’ll burn all three of you, and your companions will not have the luxury of death first.”

  He was close enough now for Xena to see the foamy spittle in the corners of his mouth, to see the glazed hatred in his eyes. To smell his fury, a horrible, sour sweat.

  “We’ll burn you like the witches you are!”

  Without a word, Xena handed her sword to Gabrielle, holding her free hand palm out, toward Barus. The townspeople fell back, eyes bright with religious mania, caught up in the hungry spirit of a small but fanatical mob. The giant ironsmith stopped and waited, his powerful hands fisted.

  Xena gave her chakra to Gabrielle, who looked worried. “He’s huge,” she whispered, taking the hoop. “If you need me—”

  Xena shook her head, gaze still fixed on the ironsmith. “Their town, their rules, one on one. Just watch out for Alesandra, I’m going to be busy.”

  Xena lowered her hand and then circled slowly away from him, and away from Gabrielle and Alesandra. She could see by the way he moved that he wasn’t trained to fight. His steps were wide and clumsy, his center was off-balance—but he was also strong, much stronger than she; if he caught her, he could crush her easily, breaking her neck as if it were a twig.

  With a roar, Barus rushed forward, arms outstretched. Xena jumped to one side, spinning around with a side-kick that caught him in the ribs.

  Barus grunted, even angrier now, and snatched at her arm. He grabbed her wrist and jerked, pulling her off-balance.

  Xena went with the motion, realizing that he meant to break her arm. As he put pressure on her wrist, she half-crouched, allowing her arm to bend. The motion brought her close to him, enough for her to be spattered by his rank sweat.

  She dropped lower, and used the flat of her free hand to strike at his neck, a blow that would have felled most men—but Barus seemed to be made from the iron he forged. He dropped her arm but stayed standing, face red with fury. She danced backward lightly.