Prophecy's Daughter

by Richard Phillips

  This opening of her mind incurred a significant degree of risk. The process was different from the type of magic she had learned from Hawthorne since it did not involve taking direct control of an elemental. The unknown ancient wielder had apparently gone mad while working on the techniques described in the manuscript, but she pushed that sentiment into the background. She had no intent of progressing toward more difficult katas until she had established a sense of mastery over the first one.

  Kim had urged Carol to allow her to be present, assisting her if she got in trouble during an exercise and providing strength through her life-shifting magic. This Carol could not permit. Since they shared a mental bond, the prospect of placing her Endarian sister at risk was intolerable.

  What she needed now was a strategy that would allow her to remain in meditation long enough to try sending out impressions.

  Perhaps she could pick a particular disturbance in the void to focus on, letting the other ripples of sight, sound, and feeling pass her by, barely observed.

  Carol moved into deep meditation eagerly, performing the initial steps of the kata with an improved alacrity, allowing the rippling orbs filled with competing visions of terror, hunger, rage, and peace to wash over her.

  Suddenly she selected a single expanding sphere to focus on. The act of moving her point of view closer to that source had the effect of increasing its intensity while reducing other sensations.

  As she shifted her focus from one glowing orb to another, the resulting visions were worlds unto themselves, filled with sights and sounds in abundance that coursed by so fast she failed to understand them, merely glimpses of disjointed places, things half-seen, half-heard, half-felt. Thoughts whispered at the edges of her own, an abundance of associations that she could not fully discern.

  A feeling of freedom, then hunger, a terrible gnawing hunger that overrode all other desires. She paused, a sense of loss and deep confusion settling over her. What was missing? Something else seemed important, something that tickled at the edge of her mind. Then she saw it, a dim light, making its way ever so tenuously through the bright ocean of sensation in which she swam. The body and face were so familiar.

  The realization suddenly pulled her back to consciousness. It was her own self . . . and she had almost lost it—again. Carol opened her eyes and then immediately closed them.

  Once again, she centered, self-confidence flooding her thoughts before she stilled them. This time she made her way through the visualizations of the kata in rapid sequence. The feelings were penetrating, but she ignored the bulk of them, focusing her intent on a new target, one of the simpler orbs.

  Its sensations passed over her, a disconnected chorus of snippets. Flashes of texture quickly disappeared as another wave from another source swept over her. But as she continued, she could feel her control improving. It was helpful to try to maintain focus on that little vibrating pinprick in the void while keeping her own image in sight, visualizing a connection between the two, a thin gossamer strand that stretched and eddied but held together.

  As she worked to steady the connecting strand that tethered her to the little vibrational source, the feelings she was picking up became stronger. She had several clear images of trees rising in the forest, strong smells, and an awareness of being watched. She backed off, intentionally weakening the bond that tethered her to her target. She was not ready to be startled out of her visualization just yet.

  Now it was time to send out a single image. She thought of a bell tolling in the tower back at Hannington Castle, the image and associated sound strong and clear. She saw the ripple spread out before her, vibrating the ropelike tether and then continuing toward the other pinpoints that surrounded her.

  As her sending reached its primary target, Carol’s stomach contracted in sheer terror, and she severed the strand, working with desperation to try to keep the storm of sensations from knocking her out of the meditation. Ripples of color formed everywhere, small reflections of the wave she had broadcast. They returned to her from multiple places, like echoes of a yell among distant canyon walls. Some were strong enough to be startling, others merely weak little whispers.

  She let them all pass across her body, and though she bobbed like a cork in a lake whipped by the winds of a storm, she maintained her concentration. As the waves subsided, Carol backed off. Then with a firm purpose, she zoomed her viewpoint back in toward her floating image until it filled her mind. She raised her hands before thumping them down onto the table, ending the kata.

  Her eyes sprang open, and as they did, she leapt to her feet, thrusting her arms skyward and letting out a wild yell. “Yes!”

  The yell of exultation rang within the cabin. She had done it! She felt like running naked through the valley. Then again, if you counted the nightgown episode, she had already done so.

  Carol walked out on her porch, threw back her head, and laughed, a sound that echoed across the valley.

  All around Longsford Watch, people stopped in their work or came out of their houses to stare up the valley toward Carol’s cabin. The murmurings among the families gave testament to the collective fear inspired by the maniacal laughter.

  29

  Areana’s Vale

  YOR 414, Early Autumn

  Jason’s white robes swirled about his slender form as he strode up the steps leading to the High Chapel, his staff aiding him in his purposeful ascent. The news he had just received confirmed the rumors he had been hearing for weeks.

  The tall ceiling of the High Chapel arched to a peak, supported by massive beams formed from the trunks of great pines that parishioners had chopped in the valley and dragged up the slope using teams of oxen. The final work had required blood and sweat supplemented with block and tackle. Fortunately, there had been no deaths.

  Both ends of the High Chapel stood open to the elements, providing magnificent views up and down this offshoot of the vale that Jason had named the Chasm of Eternity. He habitually paused at the open entrance to gaze over the majesty of what he regarded as the most incredible vista in the known world. But not today.

  Today he swept into the High Chapel with storm clouds in tow. His three bishops stood as he approached the flaming altar that dominated the center of the building.

  “Eminence,” they said, bending their heads ever so slightly in acknowledgment as he reached the inner bench, a circular affair that surrounded the central altar.

  “You have all been briefed.” His was a confirmatory statement, not a question.

  “We have,” said Bishop Williams, a rotund fellow of godly bearing.

  “It is as we have all feared.”

  Murmurs of assent rose from Bishops Smaith and Forston, the former of average build and description in every facet save for an unfortunate inward turn to his left foot. Smaith was going gray at the temples, and his brown eyes had all the sharpness of an owl’s.

  Bishop Forston, on the other hand, was young for an elder of the church. He had more the air of a warrior than that of a priest. Short-cropped hair framed a square face with inquisitive eyes. The man’s arms ended in large hands that now gripped the crooked staff of the priesthood.

  Jason had no doubt that those powerful hands could snap the spines of most men if the good bishop chose to do so. He imagined a battle of titans should the bishop contest against Rafel’s son, Alan. He cleared his head of such thoughts.

  He motioned to the benches, and the three bishops seated themselves. Jason remained standing before them.

  “We are rapidly approaching the time when we will have to act,” he began. “We have let this evil go on for far too long after the signs began to show that Carol had turned, taking up company with the dark powers.

  “I have delayed because of my affection for her and for High Lord Rafel. I waited when the people of Longsford Watch began coming to us with the stories of her strange activities. I stayed my hand when people throughout the valley began to report horses that were terrified in her presence. Even her own mare wi
ll not allow her to come near it.”

  “What about the dreams we have all shared?” asked Forston. “And at the edge of those dreams stands Carol, clad in robes of black, arms outstretched, with that vacant expression in her eyes.”

  “But her expression never stays completely vacant, does it?” asked Smaith. “In the dream her eyes often burn with mad desires or her lips curl in fear or anger. Moreover, what about her actions?”

  Jason said, “Have we not set a watch upon her this last fortnight? Does she not cry out wildly at times or walk about in a disheveled state, waking or asleep? She even forgets to bathe, to sleep, to eat. She immerses herself in arcane rituals, the like of which I cannot imagine, for they appear to be only in her head.”

  Jason paused, gazing into the eyes of each bishop in turn, seeing there only complete agreement with all that he was saying.

  “We have always warned that to consort with elementals, as wielders do, is an abomination,” said Forston.

  Williams nodded in agreement. “It is a thing of blasphemy, a sin before the gods. And yet, with the arrogance of man, good men and women are seduced into elemental practices so that they are ultimately corrupted or destroyed.”

  “I warned High Lord Rafel of this years ago,” said Jason, “when that ancient idiot Hawthorne first began providing Carol with instruction. Those warnings fell on the deaf ears of an old soldier who had grown to rely on wielders for their help in making war.”

  “And she is such a good child,” Smaith said. “Such a lovely young lady in every way.”

  “That is precisely what makes it such a tragedy,” said Jason. “Woe be it that the young and innocent should succumb to the darkest of powers. Even now I fear that it may be too late to save her.”

  “But how can we even try without the blessing of her father?” Forston asked. “High Lord Rafel is not a man who will take kindly to anyone suggesting that his daughter is not in her right mind.”

  “True enough,” Jason said. “But even the old warlord has been getting reports of the bizarre goings-on all about her. And he must also be experiencing the dreams that have been affecting everyone in the valley.”

  “Then there is her appearance,” said Forston.

  “I daresay,” said Jason, “that with the right presentation, we can convince the high lord to consider that certain steps should be taken to safeguard Carol’s well-being, along with that of his people. Some things are hard, but I have never met a more decisive leader than Jared Rafel. He will eventually do what is right.”

  “Let us all hope that eventuality comes before tragedy,” Smaith said.

  “The gods give hope to man for a reason,” Jason continued. “Let us all pray that in the coming days, they will grant our warrior lord the courage to do what needs to be done. It is best that we aid him in making the right choice.

  “I want each of you to begin providing suggestive counseling to key leaders in the communities. It is vitally important that the people make High Lord Rafel more aware of their concerns so that he becomes pliable by the time I take counsel with him directly.

  “Have a care to be thoughtful in your ministrations. I do not want things stirred up so that someone gets hurt. We are here to care for our people, not to incite riots.”

  “What about Gaar?” Forston asked.

  “No,” said Jason. “Leave that old warhorse alone. However, his son is of a mind that is open to the light of the church. I think it would be well worth your time to provide Hanibal with gentle guidance.”

  Jason turned his back and walked away. As the bishops stood to watch the high priest stride the steps along the Chasm of Eternity, the sunset bathed the rim of the valley in red.

  30

  Areana’s Vale

  YOR 414, Early Autumn

  Carol sat on the edge of her bed and pressed her palms against her eyes, as if that would take away the feeling that she had been rubbing them with a wire brush. She was tired beyond any experience she had ever endured. She started to wonder whether she had been wise to isolate herself so completely.

  The two weeks since her first success with the kata had been almost too much for her to bear. After the initial thrill of having completed the exercise, she discovered that the side effects she had been experiencing from her earlier attempts had gotten worse. Much worse.

  It had started with the dreams where she was back in the kata once again, engulfed in the void. That blackness rippled with waves that buffeted her with sensations from all sides, sensations that thrilled, calmed, frightened, or angered, but which came in such chaotic and rapid sequence that she awakened shortly after falling asleep. She felt rage, panic, hunger, and lust, smelled and tasted blood, grass, flowers, flesh. Images of the woods and Longsford Watch as seen from the air left her gasping.

  The deprivation of sleep gradually robbed her of the ability to think clearly. She began half dreaming while she was awake, nodding off in the midst of whatever she was doing, even if she were standing. Immediately after Carol lapsed out of consciousness, the dreams began again.

  Sometimes she found that she had walked in her sleep, far from her cabin, or perhaps she had walked from the cabin in near delirium and then dosed off. Often she would come to her senses to find people huddled nearby in conversation, pointing and turning away as she became aware of them.

  Yesterday she had succumbed to a fit of anger in her embarrassment upon awakening to discover a group of people staring at her from the trees as if she were some freak in a sideshow. She stood suddenly erect, reaching out with her mind to grab Golgorath, an elemental of storms.

  Her eyes flashed daggers, her robe whipping around her as lightning flashed from the sky in jagged spikes to gather itself in a glowing orb of energy just above her upraised hands. She summoned her will, and the ball of lightning shot upward into the gathering wall cloud, the thunder so loud that she thought her eardrums would shatter.

  Then the rain began, pouring down in a torrent as if it could wash away her pain and frustration along with the pitiful fools who now lay prostrate before her, crying and begging as they squirmed on their bellies. She had left them in the mud, striding back to her cabin, trembling in a white rage.

  Kim had stopped by that afternoon, appearing silently in the doorway, moving as only an Endarian can move. She had approached Carol, taking her sister in her arms as one would comfort a child, and the dam of tears had broken. How long she had cried there in Kim’s arms she could not quite remember, just that it had felt good to have a sister who cared and who loved her back, uninfluenced by what other people were thinking or feeling.

  Kim had stayed all afternoon, talking, cajoling Carol to let her help, reminding her that Endarian magic could lend her strength in working through whatever ailed her.

  But Carol could not bring herself to involve her sister. Her fear that somehow, through their mental link, through their bond of kinship, she would transmit her madness to Kim had grown into a certainty.

  Madness? That was how she had come to think of her current state, although she only now allowed the thought into her head. Something in the kata had damaged a part of her mind, opening her to elemental influences bombarding her with thoughts and feelings, some animal in nature, but others all too human.

  Was she being possessed by some unknown elemental or elementals? She had rejected the idea at first since she could still easily control the elementals she used in normal spellwork.

  But what if there were other entities that she did not know about, elementals who stayed out of her direct awareness, merely playing at the corners of her mind? Perhaps these beings were smart enough to avoid a direct confrontation and merely intent on driving her mad with their constant distractions.

  Carol stood and walked across her bedroom, pausing before the mirror to examine herself. She still wore her dark gray robe, now filthy with dried mud that she had splashed on herself stomping about in the storm.

  Her face was thin and pale, almost a deathly white, into which her
eyes had sunk amidst deep blue circles. Her dark hair hung limply in thick matted strands that draped across her shoulders like small snakes.

  Carol cackled. Now this was an appearance that finally fit in with the glowing elemental mark on her shoulder.

  A sudden knock on the door caused her to spin around. There, towering in the doorway, was her father. The hawkish visage of Jason hovered just beyond, a sympathetic smile splitting his face.

  The sympathy did not extend to his eyes.

  31

  Areana’s Vale

  YOR 414, Early Autumn

  Arn sat atop the big bay mare he had stolen, gazing up at the roiling clouds above the distant mountains. Buried in those heights lay Areana’s Vale. The worry that had troubled him these last two weeks had become a conviction that he was needed at home.

  It was funny that word came to mind when he thought of the vale. He had never thought of Hannington Castle as home, nor Rafel’s Keep. Although he had only resided in the vale for a short time, it had claimed him. Maybe the feeling was just the association between the stunning valley and Carol, his wife-to-be.

  Arn urged his mount onward. When he had begun getting the nagging feeling that Carol needed him, he had stolen a horse and started riding hard for high country. The delays and disruption he had inflicted on the army gathered outside Mo’Lier would have to be enough. Whatever the risk, he would not stay away any longer.

  Sweeping upward through the ancient forest of giants that guarded the lower entrance to the gorge that led to the vale, he felt the same sense of awe as when he had first seen the trees.

  As night fell, he made his camp next to a small brook. He dined on hardtack, washed down with mountain spring water. Then he crawled into his bedroll and fell into a troubled sleep. Dawn found him on his way once more.