The Prophecy (Children of the River Book 1)

by Ren Curylo

  “Muirgan,” he said to her, softly touching her arm. “Are you all right?”

  Muirgan’s eyes opened with a start. “I’m sorry,” she said with a sad laugh. “I got lost in the moment. The feel of your skin is intoxicating.”

  “We’ll get yours back, love, never fear,” he said confidently. “But look,” he said, holding out a wiggling fish. “I brought you a gift.”

  She cried with joy at the sight of the fish. “I haven’t been able to catch one at all,” she said. She took it and crunched her sharp teeth into it, tearing off a chunk of meat. It was harder to eat than she had expected. Human teeth and jaws were no match for seal teeth and jaws when it came to eating raw fish, and she certainly couldn’t eat it whole.

  “Don’t worry,” Aindréas said after she had devoured her meal. “We’ll be roaming the ocean together in no time.”

  “I hope so. Let’s go inside my silly hut and spend a little precious time together,” she said, taking his hand. They lay together as darkness fell, as the high tide rose and lapped near their heads. They shared her padded bed and spent an intimate night together. At last, they slept after they had exhausted themselves mentally, talking and talking, as well as tiring themselves out physically, exploring their human forms.

  When Muirgan awoke at full daylight the next morning, Aindréas was gone. A stack of little fish lay in a woven bowl sitting beside her fruit basket. She knew he had caught them in his seal form and brought them back to her one at a time before he left to investigate his lead off the eastern coast of Amalith Island.

  She smiled at the sight of his gift and her heart filled with love for him. If only I could have as much hope as I do love, she thought, staring out to sea.

  5 weeks later Nalin 4, 762

  Lasahala Run

  Silverwilde, Cardosa

  Chéile When her wedding day finally arrived, Chéile was so excited and so nervous she almost wet herself. She was dressed in her exquisite wedding gown; her trim figure was beaded and cinched like never before. The gown had jewels, gems, and pearls encrusting almost every bit of it. The bodice was low cut, off the shoulders, and the skirt, while trim, flared at the bottom, and flowed into a train that required ten little Elfin girls to carry it for her.

  She stood, waiting in the vestibule of the palace. She was alone, except for her ten train carriers. She was waiting for the signal indicating it was time for her come out, walk down the path to join her groom at the altar, built near the river, especially for their marriage ceremony.

  Her mother had left her side ten minutes before to find out what was taking so long and she hadn’t returned. Chéile shifted nervously, worrying that she would knock the jewel-encrusted headpiece out of her elaborately curled platinum hair. Her hair was normally arrow-straight and it had taken quite a bit of skill, struggle, and time to get it to curl.

  After another long wait, she could see her mother trudging up the path. It took an eternity for the woman to arrive.

  “Well?” Chéile asked as she stepped into the vestibule.

  “Well, Prince Caolán isn’t here,” she said.

  Chéile gasped. “What? What do you mean he isn’t here? Where is he?”

  I have no idea and neither do any of the attendees or guardsmen. There’s a lot of confusion going on down at the altar. Everything is ready, and we’ll proceed quickly as soon as Prince Caolán returns.”

  “Where could he be? How long has he been gone?”

  “I don’t know, no one will tell me anything.”

  “Are all the guests here?” Chéile asked, alternately wringing her hands, smoothing her dress, and patting her hair.

  “Yes,” her mother said, “the place is packed. Even Ársa is here.”

  “Ársa?” Chéile asked with a shocked tone. She hadn’t thought of him all day. “Does he know where Caolán is?”

  “No, darling, he doesn’t. I sent your father to ask him and he said all he knew was that Caolán received a message shortly after dinner last night. The prince cut the meal short and left immediately—alone. He hasn’t been seen or heard from again.”

  “Oh, dear,” Chéile said. Her pale blue eyes welled with tears and her lower lip trembled.

  “There, darling, there,” her mother said, patting Chéile’s shoulder affectionately. “I’m sure it will be all right. I’ll bet he returns in a few moments and the ceremony will begin.”

  Chéile closed her eyes and resisted the urge to turn on her mother with all the pent-up rage swelling within her breast. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

  “Look, Lady Chéile,” one of the little train carriers fairly shouted.

  Chéile bit her tongue to cut off the admonition she wanted to hurl at the girl. Instead of launching into a tirade at the child, she looked in the direction she pointed.

  “It’s a guardsman,” she whispered.

  Chéile’s nerves zinged higher and the blood pounded in her ears as the man neared. He reached the door and said, “The prince has returned, my lady. Your father waits to escort you to the altar.”

  “It’s beginning, then?” she asked with hopeful, wide eyes.

  “The prince is, this moment, riding in with an entourage, Lady Chéile,” the guardsman said. “He’s getting his party settled before making his way to the altar.”

  “I see,” she said, but she admitted to herself that she didn’t see at all. What entourage? What the Ifreann is going on? “Who are they?”

  “I heard someone say they were from D’win’teasin, my lady, but I do admit I didn’t see them so I can’t say for sure.”

  “D’win’teasin?” Chéile questioned. “Why would a delegate have arrived from D’win’teasin?”

  “I don’t know, Princess. As I said, I cannot confirm it since I didn’t see them with my own eyes.”

  “Very well,” Chéile said with a dismissive nod. “We had better get going because it takes forever to get these ten little twitninnies to move any distance at all. It will take us the rest of the afternoon to get that far.”

  Where her father stood awaiting her wasn’t far, it was down the walkway and around the corner, and from there it was a few hundred steps to reach her groom. She would let the girls fidget and reorganize once they reached her father’s side before they proceeded the rest of the way. She glanced at the children behind her and asked, “Ready, girls?”

  “Ready,” they all replied discordantly.

  The trumpets blared, signaling that it was time for the bride to begin her wedding march. The guardsman held the door for the bride and her train carriers to pass. When Chéile’s mother stepped out, he offered her his arm. “I’ll escort you down, my lady,” he said with a smile.

  “Thank you,” Chéile’s mother said gratefully.

  “Mother, you two pass us up and run ahead. I’d like you to be seated when I arrive, rather than running in behind us like a gaggle of geese.”

  The two of them quickly passed the bride and walked briskly down the path toward the congregation. Chéile waited until they were almost out of sight before she started forward again. She walked slowly, and it took several minutes to reach her father’s side.

  “You’re beautiful, Chéile,” he said. “I couldn’t ask for a more radiant daughter.”

  “Thank you, Papa,” she said.

  “Your mother and I always wanted more children, but it wasn’t to be. As a result, I am afraid we spoiled you. But I am happy to see your dreams coming true for you.”

  “I’m not spoiled,” Chéile said, slightly petulantly. Her father chuckled and patted Chéile’s hand. They walked down the long aisle together. The wedding was to take place in the palace’s enormous outdoor garden. The place was packed with chairs, benches, stools—each one of them occupied. People stood when they could not find a seat. Chéile had never seen so many people in one place in her life. She grew more nervous with each step she took.

  The whole garden was fragrant with ropes and ropes of flowers draping everywhere. The prince sto
od under a blossomdraped arbor with an arched roof.

  He looks odd, Chéile thought the instant he came into view. He shifted nervously, his eyes darting around as if unsure of where to look. At last, he made eye contact with Chéile. He looked at her for only a brief moment, before he cast his gaze down to stare at the floor in front of the toe of his pale shoe.

  He’s just nervous. Surely even princes get nervous, too. It makes sense, doesn’t it? I’m nervous, why wouldn’t he be?

  She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Caolán looked as though he were caught in the sights of a pirate’s cannon. Her heart beat hard in her chest as fear gripped her. Something isn’t right. She found she couldn’t look at her husband-to-be without tears welling in her eyes and threatening to spill down her cheeks. She turned instead to look at the crowd, all of whom were standing, staring at her. Many of them began to murmur as she passed. Whispered voices, shushing along with each step she took, closer and closer, to Caolán. She couldn’t pick out a single word but the feeling hung in the air, surrounding her, hanging cloyingly around her.

  Looking at the crowd was almost as difficult, Chéile found, as looking at her prince. Then, she saw him. He was standing in the crowd, a few feet from her prince. He was dashing in a navy blue dress uniform. She had never seen him anything but grey or black. The navy set off the blue of his eyes to even more advantage than normal. He looked almost attractive, she noted. She thought perhaps other women did find him handsome. More than a few women stared at him as he stood, broad-shouldered and muscular among the slender elves.

  Ársa held his head high and his eyes never wavered as he looked at Chéile. He gave her a brief, small smile of acknowledgement but his expression gave nothing away. If he knew what was going on, she couldn’t read it in his face. She focused on him, finding that she was capable of moving closer to her destiny if she saw only Ársa.

  At last, she reached her groom and took her place beside him, facing him. She offered him a nervous, almost timid smile. The wedding official took his place and stood awkwardly before them, as Chéile looked at Caolán and waited. She waited for him to look at her. She waited for him to take her hands. She waited for the official to start the ceremony. Finally, she realized the official was looking at the prince, too. He too was waiting for the prince to give the signal that he was ready to proceed. The prince stood woodenly beside her, staring at the floor, looking like he had swallowed a casaba melon whole.

  She could see Ársa from the corner of her eye, standing with at least half a dozen people between them. She studiously ignored him, focusing, instead, on the ornately carved silver button on Caolán’s waistcoat. The seconds ticked by, each one feeling like a full minute, her nerves stretched taut to ripping. She thought if someone didn’t do something soon she would scream, and perhaps keep on screaming until she passed out with the exertion.

  The tension was beginning to strain the crowd too, for they grew restless and their whispers were louder than before. She heard giggles from behind her. The nervous titter grew and spread across the entire section of guests. The train carriers stood quietly for once, still holding Chéile’s train tightly clenched in their small, pale hands.

  At last, Caolán looked up, though at the official rather than at his bride. He cleared his throat. Three times. He spoke with a shaking voice, in a lowkey, quiet tone. “I’m sorry; this is simply not going to happen.” He turned to the crowd and spoke, now in a loud, booming voice so there would be no mistaking his words. “This wedding between Chéile and I is simply not going to happen. Not today, not ever. I am sorry for the inconvenience, but I cannot marry her. She’s a lovely girl, and none of this is her fault.”

  The crowd gasped and buzzed at his words. Chéile’s heart pounded in her ears so that she couldn’t be sure exactly what he said. But he continued talking even though Chéile thought surely she was going deaf, or dying of heart failure. How could he keep talking? She felt dizzy and sick.

  “Instead of marrying Chéile, I will wed Princess Ly’wyn’tas of D’win’teasin. We will perform the ceremony today and the alliance will work toward rejoining our people into one, once more.” He cleared his throat again and continued, his voice strong and sure, as he spoke loudly. “We believe this alliance will be much more beneficial to all our people than a bond with Chéile. I am sorry for those of you who expected this wedding to go as planned.” Caolán turned & signaled to one of his guards standing along the wall behind the altar.

  Caolán gave a nod of his head to the man who stepped forward and said, “Please, escort Lady Chéile back to her chamber in the palace so she can collect her belongings, then be so kind as to escort her to her parents’ home.”

  Chéile was in shock. She stood staring at him as if he were a two-headed monster. The guard gently tugged her arm and waited. She made no move to follow him nor did she allow him to lead her away.

  Finding her voice, Chéile spoke in a ragged, raspy tone. “How could you do this to me? Why would you do it this way?”

  “Don’t cause a scene, Chéile,” Caolán said looking down his nose at her.

  “Don’t cause a scene?” she echoed harshly. Her voice shook with her pain, sorrow, outrage, and embarrassment. “You’ve already seen to that, haven’t you?”

  “Before you go, Chéile, please remove your headdress. It’s a bridal headdress that’s been in my family for generations. It wasn’t a gift to you, but to my bride. I need it for my real bride.” Caolán looked at her smugly.

  Chéile was stunned. She stood staring at him, unable to move or to fully comprehend what was happening.

  The prince snapped his fingers and several ladies in waiting who served his mother stepped forward and began to roughly remove the headdress from her hair while the guard at her elbow began tugging on her arm anew.

  She suddenly became aware that the guard tugging at her arm was no longer there. Another man took her hand and said, “Come with me, Chéile.”

  She turned and found Ársa looking into her pallid blue eyes. His look of concern was pure as he held her hand. “Come,” he said again, in a soft, urging tone. “I will take you out of here.”

  Chéile gave in to him and walked beside him, back the way she had come. As they left the altar, he whispered, “Hold your head up, love, and don’t let that bastard break you.”

  She did as he commanded her, and held her head high, keeping her eyes straight forward. She took his hand in her left hand and brushed her disheveled hair back with her right. She refused to meet anyone’s gaze, not the gloating ones, not the mocking ones, and not the sympathetic ones. She held hands with The Creator as she left behind what should have been her groom and the happiest day of her life.

  Ársa escorted her back to her royal chamber to gather her personal belongings, so she could return, in shame, to her parents’ house. As he closed the door behind them, shutting out the Elfin world, he said, “Will you have me now, Chéile?”

  She looked at him. Though he was the most powerful man in their world, he had always been gentle and kind to her. He had been endlessly patient with her. He had pursued her for many, many months and had never tired of the game even when he knew it was hopeless.

  “No,” she sobbed. He took her in his arms and held her while she cried.

  After she had composed herself a bit, he said, “What will it take to make you change your mind, girl?”

  Chéile knew that he wanted only a physical relationship with her. He had made it plain, and he had never offered her anything more substantial than to be his mistress. She looked at him now and saw the raw desire on his face. She unfastened her wedding gown and let it drop from her shoulders to fall in a puddle of white cloth at her feet. She peeled her soft, thin undergarments off slowly, and one by one dropped them to the heap of cloth beneath her. Finally, she stood, naked and splendid before him. She could tell from the look on his face that he had never seen anyone more beautiful. She wasn’t afraid of him. He had complete control o
f himself.

  “What would you give to possess me, Ársa?”

  “Anything you ask,” he said hoarsely. His voice was deep and harsh but strangely quiet.

  Chéile looked him over, appraising him and noted the bulge in the front of his pants. It was far larger than the Elfin bulge she had seen, on occasion, in the prince’s clothing when they had kissed for hours during their courtship.

  “Will you marry me and make me your goddess?” she asked.

  Ársa looked at her for a long moment. “Will you bear my children?” he asked. He knew what his society expected of him, even if he didn’t like it. And he didn’t like it, even as he said it. The words seemed to leap from his throat. Not stopping to analyze what compelled him to press for this, he shrugged it off as duty. His Envoy was small enough in numbers that breeding among themselves was necessary. The only one of his Envoy he found appealing wouldn’t have him, so what choice was left to him? He would agree to Chéile’s demands.

  Chéile nodded. “I will bear you two, one boy and one girl. The order and timing are up to you.”

  Ársa nodded. “I have no time or order preference, Chéile, since you will bear them it shall be at your discretion. I will marry you tonight,” he said. “Anything to possess you.”

  Chéile nodded. “Before I marry you, I would have you make me a goddess, to prove your faith.”

  Ársa nodded in agreement, and Chéile knew her nudity, her splendid beauty, and the enormous bulge in his pants had conspired against the poor man. She gloated to herself about the success she was having with this one. I may have failed with Caolán, but I stand to gain far more this way, anyhow.