The Seer

by Kirsten Jones

  ‘How could I forget?’ She fumed, pointing to her swollen waist.

  ‘Well, apparently you just have!’

  They argued all the way back across the meadows, breaking off to briefly greet the guard on duty at the North Gate then resume their disagreement down the path to the village. At the village square they were met by a sight that instantly made them both stop and stare in astonishment.

  Grendel was sat astride the magnificent firebrand stallion with one of the nymphs from the Vale of Belleville clasped firmly in his arms, her face bearing an expression of slavish devotion. Mistral eyed her with a disgusted look and sincerely hoped that she never wore a similar expression when she looked at Fabian, but suspected that she possibly did.

  ‘Looks like another damned wedding is imminent then.’ Cain muttered bad-temperedly and kicked his horse on.

  The morning of Fabian’s return found Mistral hiding in the twins’ bathroom and trying to ignore Phantasm shouting at her through the locked door.

  ‘Come on Mistral! According to your infallible connection to your Mage they should be riding through the meadows right about now! If you want to be in the square to greet him you’d better get out of that bath!’

  Mistral heaved a sigh and looked at herself in the mirror again. What would Fabian think when he saw her? She must be nearly twice the size she was when he left. Would he hate how big she was becoming? Shoving her anxious thoughts aside, Mistral pulled on her shirt and trousers. Leaving her hair loose she finally exited the steamy bathroom to be met by Phantasm wearing an impatient expression.

  ‘Hair.’

  ‘Washed,’ she responded automatically.

  ‘No Mistral,’ he snapped, dragging her by the hand to the dreaded stool in his bedroom. ‘I know you’re worried about Mage De Winter’s reaction to how much you’ve grown over the last, what’s it been?’

  ‘Sixteen days and five hours; give or take –’

  ‘Quite,’ he said briskly and proceeded to drag a comb through her tangled hair. ‘So allow me to at least make some of you look presentable, since you refuse to wear anything but those damned trousers.’

  ‘They’re comfy,’ she argued back.

  Submitting reluctantly to his administrations Mistral was surprised to find that she was almost pleased with the fleeting glimpse of her reflection Phantasm allowed her before he hurried her down the stairs and towards the door being held open by Phantom. Just managing to grab her velvet cloak from the back of the sofa as she was pulled past, Mistral swathed herself in its disguising mass while she was almost physically hauled towards the village square.

  ‘They’ve already passed through the North Gate!’ Phantom exclaimed when the distinctive tolling of the warning bell sounded out.

  Phantasm promptly dragged her into a jog, ‘Do get a move on Mistral, or we’re going to miss their arrival!’

  A considerable crowd had already gathered by the time the twins and a breathless Mistral arrived in the square. The three warriors had become something of heroes in the Valley; each had successfully competed in a tournament and then duelled with Mage Grapple to secure their place on a historical Contract: it was the stuff of legends. They had guaranteed their places in both the Ri’s history books and the Council’s. It was a seminal moment for a Valley of half-breed thieves and assassins.

  Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Mistral hovered at the back of the excited knot of people all looking up at the path leading from the North Gate. A sudden drumming of hooves signalled the arrival of the homecoming warriors. Mistral immediately held her breath when three figures cantered into view, her hands clenching into nervous fists. Samson and Brutus rode into the square first, their dusty faces lit with broad grins at the burst of cheering, but it was the dark figure riding behind them that held Mistral’s aching gaze. The face she adored was hollow-cheeked and shadowed by two weeks growth of beard, his tousled hair even more unkempt, but to her he was, as ever, completely and utterly perfect.

  The crowd converged on Samson and Brutus the moment they dismounted but Fabian forced Spirit on, his eyes raking the mass of people for the one he sought so keenly until he saw her, hanging back at the edge of the crowd, looking almost shy. Calling her name, Fabian threw himself from Spirit and strode towards her, leading his exhausted mare behind him.

  Mistral watched him approach, arrested by the dark eyes that haunted her dreams; or were they his dreams? She could barely tell the difference anymore. But this, this was real, the figure standing before her, reaching out for her with acute yearning.

  ‘Oh!’

  His cry of surprise was like a knife blow to her. She bit her lip in fear as he recoiled, withdrawing his hands to stare down in wonderment at the hard mass that had obstructed their embrace.

  ‘You’ve grown!’

  Mistral bit her lip harder, closing her eyes to avoid seeing his reaction; dreading the emotion she would see reflected in his eyes and his aura. Disgust? Revulsion? She felt his hands slide beneath her cloak to caress the evidence of the life growing within her, holding her with a touch so gentle that she finally dared to open her eyes, only for the breath to be stolen from her by the force of his stare. Fabian’s eyes burned with an emotion far deeper and more torrid than any he had ever expressed before. It seared with an intensity echoed in the velvet whisper of his words.

  ‘My love.’

  The Election

  Mistral and Fabian didn’t appear for the next two days, and possibly would have remained behind closed doors for even longer if it had not been for the pressing matter of the election of a new Divinus.

  ‘Seriously Fabian, why don’t we just get the twins to work their gift?’ Mistral asked while Fabian knelt to lace up her boots. ‘It would save so much stress!’

  ‘Freedom of choice is important Mistral. Especially to the Ri,’ he rocked back on his heels and gazed at her expressively. ‘You know what precious little of our lives is actually defined by our own choosing; so much is –’

  ‘Destiny.’ Mistral finished for him. ‘I know all about that. But –’

  ‘No. The warriors will elect who they genuinely believe has the appropriate skills to fulfil the role of Divinus. Pure and simple.’

  ‘I don’t know what Malachi has planned though,’ she persisted. ‘He’s sure to have some twisted scheme up his sleeve, but I haven’t Seen what!’

  ‘I do not doubt that he has a plan.’ Fabian rose to his feet, holding out a hand to her. ‘But let’s trust that the majority of warriors believe in Leo’s ability to lead the Ri.’

  Giving up on arguing with him, Mistral took his hand and rose to her feet. Leaving Prospero stretched out across their unmade bed, she followed Fabian down the stairs and out of their house into the cool spring night.

  The Cloak and Dagger was heaving with warriors recently returned to the Valley to cast their vote in the election. Floris had cleared out the backyard to make extra space, it was now filled with warriors standing around, drinking heavily while they engaged in lively debates about the qualities of the three candidates. More warriors spilled out into the village square. Fed up with his door being continually banged open, Floris had propped it open to allow the warriors to walk in and out freely, and slightly more quietly.

  Mistral followed Fabian into the overcrowded tavern, keeping a tight hold on his hand while he pushed through to reach a table at the back where Xerxes was holding court.

  ‘Finally decided to grace us with your presence have you?’ He cried loudly and leapt to his feet, yanking out a chair and dusting it off with a theatrical flourish. ‘I’ve been saving you that chair for two days now!’

  Mistral gave him a warning look and sat down.

  ‘So, I take it Mage De Winter wasn’t too horrified by the new, larger you then?’ Phantom whispered in her ear once Fabian was safely heading back towards the bar.

  ‘That is so none of your business!’ Mistral whispered back and promptly blushed when he raised his eyebrows suggestively, much to the amuseme
nt of her brothers who burst into a chorus of laugher at her reaction.

  ‘Ah, talking of all things maternal, you know we had to deliver a foal on the journey don’t you Mistral?’ Brutus grinned at her from the other side of the table, obviously still revelling in his newfound hero status.

  Mistral nodded. Fabian had told her all about the week spent driving the unicorn herd across the Isle; one mare had given birth, but they’d also lost another to a manticore.

  ‘What a palaver that was!’ Brutus continued. ‘Samson was useless! For a warrior that’s seen more blood than a butcher he was really squeamish about birthing the foal!’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ Mistral remarked under her breath, looking up gratefully as Fabian returned from the bar with two tankards. Her gratitude waned slightly when he passed her the half-full one.

  Fabian shrugged slightly and smiled, and was instantly forgiven.

  ‘Business good brother?’ Mistral asked, peering at Xerxes speculatively over the top of her tankard. His eyes were ringed with tiredness but lit with a fanatical gleam that spoke of only one thing; gambling.

  He quickly looked around before leaning across the table to mutter furtively to her, ‘I’ve made more money over the last week than we got paid for the Ten Year Cull!’

  ‘That’ll buy Marietta a lot of dresses!’ Mistral whispered back with a grin.

  Xerxes made frantic hushing gestures with his hands, ‘Not so loud!’ He hissed, glancing around with a panicked expression before continuing in a whisper so quiet that Mistral had to strain to catch the words. ‘For pity’s sake don’t let Marietta know I’ve made a load of money! And she’s not to find out what I’m going to do with it either!’

  ‘Which is what?’ Mistral asked, trying not to smile at Xerxes’ efforts to be secretive.

  ‘Buy a house –’

  ‘What? For you and Marietta?’

  ‘Not likely!’ Xerxes exclaimed, looking appalled at the idea. ‘For me!’

  ‘And me!’ Brutus added loudly.

  ‘Hallelujah.’ Cain murmured and raised a tankard in a toast to himself. ‘Here’s to finally having my flat back.’

  ‘Seen Grendel?’ Phantom asked her while Xerxes and Brutus fell to arguing between themselves about their proposed living arrangements.

  Mistral shook her head, ‘Not since he rode into the Valley with that nymph tucked under his arm.’

  Phantom pulled a face, ‘The stench alone must have nearly melted her! Was she screaming to be released?’

  Mistral frowned thoughtfully, ‘Not really, more gazing adoringly at him … kind of like Prospero does at food.’

  ‘Or like you do at Mage De Winter.’ Phantom muttered into his tankard. ‘Sickening –’

  Mistral exercised her newfound ability to swear in French then glanced quickly at Fabian, but he didn’t appear to have heard. He and Phantasm had their heads bent close together in a serious looking conversation.

  ‘Ah, down to business,’ Xerxes announced, pulling a piece of parchment from his top pocket with a flourish. ‘Place your bets please gentlemen and er, lady –’

  ‘What on?’ Mistral asked with a sigh.

  ‘The speeches of course! Duration, content, whether there’ll be any fighting, the amount of times Mycroft uses the word “culture” –’

  ‘I’ll make a wager on how many warriors fall asleep during his speech.’ Brutus slapped some silver coins on the table. ‘Six!’

  ‘Done.’ Xerxes swept the coins away and hastily scribbled a note on his piece of parchment. ‘Consider it your first instalment on your rent brother.’

  Leaving Xerxes taking bets from anyone he could persuade to part with their money, Mistral took another sip of her drink and listened in on Fabian’s conversation with Phantasm. They were discussing the election process, along with almost every other occupant in the tavern.

  ‘Assuming that Master Sphinx is successful, he will then have to travel to the Council to present his case for their approval. Do you think he will wish us and Mistral to attend too?’

  Fabian shook his head, ‘There is no way Eximius could allow a Seer and two mind controllers to be present, it would cast too much doubt on the validity of the outcome. Besides, it is not advisable for Mistral to undertake long journeys at the moment.’

  ‘Of course.’ Phantasm nodded then frowned. ‘However, it would have been useful to know the outcome first hand. When will the Council’s decision be officially declared?’

  Fabian shrugged, ‘It depends. Aloysius was elected unanimously after just one week of debate. It can take considerably longer if there are any contentious factors.’

  Like the candidate being a Mage and the son of Mage Grapple …

  Phantasm’s thought made Mistral look up sharply, hoping he wouldn’t speak it. She still hadn’t managed to get around to telling Fabian that the twins knew the true nature of Leo’s parentage.

  ‘And if there are contentious factors?’ Phantasm asked instead, making Mistral exhale softly with relief.

  ‘If the Council’s vote is not decisive, the whole process begins again –’

  ‘The warriors have to vote again?’

  ‘No, only the Council process is repeated. But the candidate would be summoned to respond to the issues that prevented the vote from being decisive.’

  ‘Then they vote again?’

  ‘Yes, and hopefully for the final time. Although I have heard tales of the process taking over a year before.’

  Not sure I can stand a year of Master Casterton lording it over the Valley …

  Mistral nodded in silent agreement with Phantasm’s unspoken thought. More than once she’d caught the twins emerging from a storeroom on the third floor where they’d been forced to hide in order to avoid another one of Mycroft’s sermons on his plans for the Valley.

  ‘Warriors! It is time!’

  Gleacher’s iron shout rang out over the hubbub of voices, instantly commanding the attention of everyone in the packed tavern. The warriors that had been loitering in The Cloak’s backyard squeezed into the already tightly jammed room, even more forced their way in from the village square. Mistral felt the familiar black panic creeping over her at the sheer volume of bodies pressed into the space around her … the curse of her claustrophobia, something else she hadn’t got around to telling Fabian … she closed her eyes and forced herself to take a slow breath, fighting down the wave of irrational fear.

  Think of open spaces Mistral. It’s fine, both the doors are open. You could get up and walk out anytime you wanted to …

  Mistral listened to Phantasm’s calming thoughts and drew in another deep breath. She opened her eyes to gaze at the stars in the small patch of sky just visible through the open door, until it was suddenly obliterated by the portly figure of Mycroft Casterton.

  ‘Here we go!’ Xerxes muttered, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically while Mycroft bustled importantly through the crowd to the bar.

  ‘Don’t forget I’ve got ten silver coins on him saying the word “cultured” at least twice!’ Cain hissed under his breath.

  ‘Yes, yes!’ Xerxes waved a hand at him. ‘Now hush! I need to hear this!’

  ‘I don’t think Mycroft has ever elicited that response in anyone before.’ Phantom remarked to Mistral.

  ‘Certainly not in me anyway,’ she murmured back then rested her elbows on the table. Sinking her chin down into her hands, she prepared for a long, boring speech.

  Accepting a goblet of wine from Floris, Mycroft turned and held it aloft to the roomful of warriors before him, ‘I toast you all, my brothers!’

  Apart from a few stifled laughs, a heavy silence met his salutation. Everyone knew that Mycroft had absolutely no right to make the warriors’ claim of brotherhood. The only time he handled a knife was when he also had a fork in the other hand.

  ‘Good start.’ Xerxes whispered with a grin.

  Apparently ignorant to the hostility radiating from the warriors before him, Mycroft drained th
e goblet and set it back down on the bar before turning to address his audience, ‘I have devoted my life to the furthering of education and establishment of culture –’

  ‘One!’

  ‘No Cain, he said culture, not cultured!’

  ‘– in this most secluded haven of our kind –’

  ‘Our kind? What blood is he anyway?’ Mistral murmured to Phantom while Mycroft droned on.

  ‘Human, can’t you tell?’

  ‘Huh! That explains a lot! But, how’d he get here?’

  ‘One of the few that were invited over to act as consultants when Mage Grapple started his reign. The others are long dead, Mycroft is the only one left now.’

  ‘What happened to the others? Did they meet Mycroft and die of boredom?’

  ‘No, although I am starting to feel the onset of a Mycroft-induced coma.’ Phantom whispered back. ‘There were only ever three humans on the Isle; Mycroft and a married couple who fancied themselves as adventurers. They went off on an ill-advised tour of the giant territory and, perhaps unsurprisingly, never came back.’

  ‘Shame they didn’t take Mycroft with them.’ Mistral sighed and reluctantly returned her attention to Mycroft’s speech.

  ‘Permit me to lead you into a future bright with promise! The promise of a more cultured Ri!’

  ‘Definitely one!’

  ‘Fine! But please be quiet Cain!’

  ‘I foresee a future where the secret talents of our brethren are celebrated and warriors are no longer forced to hide away in darkened rooms to practise their art –’

  ‘What the hell is he on about?’ Cain demanded in an irritable mutter.

  ‘I think he’s referring to the fact that he once heard Xerxes singing his goblin song in his dorm room after a good night in The Cloak.’ Brutus hissed back.

  ‘Lay down your swords and take up your instruments! Play, sing, read! Become learned! The future will not be forged through bloodshed but through words. Debate! The time honoured skill of oration! Join me in a more cultured future!’

  ‘Yes!’ Cain’s exuberant cry echoed around the silent tavern, he quickly realised his mistake and spluttered a hasty explanation. ‘No not to him! I just won a bet that’s all!’