After Tomorrow: A CHBB Anthology

by Samantha Ketteman

  "Does Ulliel know?" Marianna asked through quiet sobs.

  "No. But he will find me before the end."

  "You’ve seen it?"

  "Yes. Mari, please listen, you need to make me a promise." Marianna drew back to look deeply into Shiane’s eyes. There was confusion written there, etched into the lines that puckered the soft flesh between her eyebrows and wrinkled her little nose.

  "What is it?"

  "In a few hours they will come for all of the spell-weavers and prophets in the town. Thestor has sold me out to Deacon and the Ellisorian elders. They are collecting people with abilities and taking them to Ellisor. They are creating one coven to power the whole city and Deacon plans to rule it. When they can't find me, they will take everyone else as payment, including you. I need you to hide. Take Cael and hide yourselves in your mother’s store hole in the kitchen wall. No matter what you see, or what you hear, you must stay hidden. Promise me."

  "What about mamma and papa?" Shiane shook her head. Her own tears welled as she recalled seeing Marianna’s father killed to defend his wife. The images came from a vision she’d had only recently. Both Marianna and Cael would be orphaned and in a few months, so too would her own child.

  "You will be okay. You are strong and Cael will look out for you when he grows, but you must keep on the move. You will not be safe from Deacon unless you stay ahead of him."

  "I understand." Marianna hardened her face into an expression of determination and Shiane marvelled at how strong the little girl was. She was still only in her early teen years, but carried the horrific news as one much older and wiser.

  "I am so proud of you and I am sorry to be leaving you so soon." Shiane sighed, kissing Marianna’s forehead. "I have one more thing to ask of you."

  "Anything."

  "One day my daughter will come to find you. She won't even know she is looking for you but Cael will save her and you will teach her," Shiane ignored the look of shock and dismay that fixed upon Marianna’s face and continued to relay her message. Time was running short. “Please, tell her that I loved her even before she was born, give her this letter from me, and let her know that her name is Aletheia." Shiane slipped a silk-wrapped bundle out from under her cloak and shoved it into the girl’s trembling hands.

  "Is she Ulliel’s?"

  Shiane nodded confirming Marianna’s suspicions.

  "But that would make her . . . Oh my heavens, Shiane . . . that makes her . . . She will be . . . Oh! And Cael . . . She will be his . . ." Marianna stumbled her words. She was piecing together everything she knew and had learned about Summoners, about Shiane and what the unborn child signified. She was quickly realising what Shiane already knew.

  "Yes. She will contain all four natures: Priestess and Summoner, Alchemist and Spell-weaver. She is the child that the first prophetess predicted, the one who will bring back the sun and heal the orb."

  "How long? How long will you have to be with her?"

  "Not long enough." Shiane sighed sadly and looked up into the ugly grey mass of toxic sky. She had to go. She had to get away before the soldiers came.

  "Oh I nearly forgot. There is a spelled box in the house. Aletheia will need it. Send her here for it. Thestor will keep it safe until he can work out its value to him but warn her not to trust him."

  "I will. I swear. I love you, Shiane. Please be safe. Alum danar."

  Shiane nearly burst into tears at Marianna’s heartfelt pledge. It was one that lovers usually made in their marriage vows but was occasionally used amongst sisters of the covens to pledge themselves to one another.

  "Alum danar," Shiane replied, her words catching in her throat. Forever yours. She pressed her lips one last time to the little girl’s head and said goodbye to the closest thing to a sister she had.

  With a heavy heart, Shiane slipped into the shadows of the ever-dark sky.

  Chapter Two

  Only a few hours out of LeShail and Shiane felt the cold winds biting into her skin. It felt like needles hammering through her flesh. The outlands were harsh and cruel and Shiane had lived too long protected by the buildings in the city to cope sufficiently with the sharper weather.

  She pulled her dark cloak about her shoulders and whispered the words needed to shield her from the worst of the winds. The darkness was imposing—it had its own weight and gloomy intent—and could be felt right to the very core. With her eyes shimmering at their full beam and the hazy-blue LeShail lights at her back, Shiane stared into the gloom.

  The land was barren at first glance. The orb had suffered over the last few hundred years. The fires that came before the great darkness had scorched the land, razing the verdant fields to ashes. The people had not acted in time and so most of the earth was destroyed before it had been saved. In an effort to protect what they could, mankind built the Machine. The Machine threw up a shield and gave the survivors a chance to rebuild, but when the time came to drop the barrier they realised their mistake: it had poisoned the sky. In addition, when the shield eventually dropped, there remained a great darkness: A blanket of eternal, poisoned night.

  Shiane, like all the others, learned the orb histories from the elders. Each generation that lived, aged and died in the years after the great darkness felt it was important to remember what the orb had been like before. Shiane always believed they were just torturing themselves with a vision of beauty that they would never again see in their lifetime, or their children’s lifetimes either, until her Dakkar.

  Along with the histories was another story, one that was passed down to the spell-weavers and magic users. This story was one that offered hope for the future. Shiane hadn’t put much faith in the story herself, partly because she was once suspected of being the one to fulfil it. The story was a prophecy: The first ever prophecy told by the first ever prophetess. She foretold the coming of a child, born of magic, who would destroy the poisoned sky and bring life back to the orb. It was so far-fetched that Shiane dismissed it as a desperate way to keep the people compliant: if they had something positive to hope for they would continue to plod along in the faith of it being fulfilled. It wouldn’t be the first time that people had lived in hope of a saviour.

  Yet, when Shiane’s Dakkar showed her a daughter—a child she would take to the last place she ever thought possible—Shiane had to admit, a small spark of hope ignited within her chest. Then when Ulliel, the last Summoner, came to find her, the truth could not be denied: Shiane’s child would be the one—all of the pieces fit—well, except for the fact that everyone thought the saviour would be a boy.

  “Won’t they be surprised,” she whispered as she chuckled into the whistling wind.

  As her eyes attuned themselves to the hard ground, Shiane could make out the tell-tale patterns of animal trails. She wasn’t entirely alone. Some animals had proven even more resilient than humans. Reptiles in particular managed the new terrain with ease. The warmer blooded mammals had been forced to evolve quickly. Each year they changed in subtle and not so subtle ways. The Ranng beasts had developed a third horn and a second layer of sharp teeth. The hunters endlessly complained that they would eventually become the hunted.

  Shiane took the sight of trails as a warning. She circled her energy throughout her body and then focussed it on her eyes and ears in an effort to see and hear further. If she wanted to make it to the city of Arkaiden in one piece, she would have to be able to identify any danger as early as possible.

  She suspected that the journey would take a few weeks at most, but having never ventured that way before, she couldn’t be sure. The only thing she knew was the general direction. The energy in the sky radiated out from Arkaiden in great undulating pools of power. Shiane knew if she followed the pools to the epicentre, she would find the city.

  She stroked the bump beneath her dress.

  “It is not going to be comfortable, Aletheia,” she whispered down towards the distended mound. It had only just started to present itself, despite how far along her pregnancy already was. Sh
iane suspected it had something to do with the child’s magic but couldn’t say for sure.

  “We have a long trek ahead of us,” Shiane sighed.

  The ground beneath Shiane’s feet rumbled disconcertingly. She could tell that something large was fast approaching but, with neither sight nor sound of it, she needed to check. Shiane stopped and lowered herself into an uncomfortable crouch. She hadn’t spared a thought to her new body shape or extra load and adjusting to her new centre of gravity took a moment. Once she had her hand firmly to the dry, grit beneath her, she pushed a tendril of her energy out into the landscape and took its own natural energy within herself. The sharing of personal power and earth power struck a balance and Shiane was able to feel the essence of the terrain around her. It lived and breathed regardless of the scarred environment. Shiane hoped that this meant it would heal too.

  Using the earth’s energy, she scanned for the source of the rumbling. It was a few miles ahead of her and felt distinctly like the rhythmic pounding of feet. If Shiane was correct, they were coming from the direction of Ellisor.

  She knew what they were.

  Soldiers.

  Specifically it was the Ellisorian guard heading for LeShail, and they were going to pass right by her. Shiane pulled herself upright, feeling unfamiliar aches and pains pulse through her body. She withdrew a water bottle and sipped at the cool contents, not to replenish any thirst but to heal her body of its grumblings.

  Water, although a scarce commodity in the outlands, was the most essential as it was the healing element. The perpetual nature of the substance, as it moved through its cyclical existence, meant that it was transformative. It both gave life and replenished all that had been lost. It was an essential component in most spell-weaving.

  Feeling slightly rejuvenated, Shiane popped the bottle back into its holster and swept her cloak back over the bag and herself. With her hood up, she marched into the oncoming soldiers in the hopes that one woman wouldn’t be noticed.

  She was wrong.

  Within ten minutes they were upon her, a long train of soldiers on horseback, with carts and chains. The spell-weavers in the city would have no chance against them.

  “You there!” A deep, threatening voice boomed as the horses and riders appeared. Shiane dimmed her eyes to a faint line of light, appearing like any other outlander and disguising her magic nature as best she could.

  “Sir?” she asked, fighting to keep the anxiety from her voice. The men in Ellisor were not known for kindness.

  “Where have you come from?”

  Shiane thought fast. “The Ranger’s Pass,” she answered. The man climbed off his horse and approached her. A couple of his men had stopped to watch and held his horse steady.

  “There is nothing at Ranger’s Pass. What did you do, crawl out of the bowels of the chasm?” he sneered.

  “I live at the mill there, Sir.”

  “With who?” he snapped as he circled her. He was assessing her. Shiane wanted to shrink down and make herself seem small under his gaze but doing so would make her appear weak and frightened. She was dancing a fine line with these men.

  “My father, until a few days ago. He passed away and I am on my way to live with my aunt and uncle in Ristol,” she stated matter-of-factly, hoping to convey a non-confrontational and yet confident tone.

  “On your own?”

  “I have only myself, Sir, but my family expects me,” she replied, letting him know she was not wholly at his disposal. She had heard tales of soldiers kidnapping people for their own pleasures and wickedness. She would not become any man’s victim.

  “Be on your way then.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She picked up her pace. She could hear the soldiers discussing the likelihood of her being from LeShail.

  “We really should insist on travelling papers or assigned guides for these sorts of things. It would make things a hell of a lot easier when we come across strays.”

  “Yeah but the paperwork alone would have the elders in knots. You know how they are. Plus if everyone was registered, then how would we recruit?” A malevolent voice spoke up and the others joined him in his laughter. Shiane guessed they were not talking about recruiting more guards.

  A shiver of fear tore down her back. She almost sensed the change in their thoughts—the question of whether they could take her without it being noticed. The primal nature of her fear turned her stomach and then something almost impossible happened: Shiane shimmered once and then disappeared. She knew for certain, if any of the soldiers sought to recruit her now they would never find her. She was invisible even from her own sight.

  Only when her fear dissipated and she was far enough from the travelling soldiers did she return to her natural, visible form.

  Shiane stared down at herself, her hand stroking her tummy.

  “You? Is it even possible? Did you sense our danger or read me, little one? . . . I wish you could answer.” without a response she couldn’t know for sure, but Shiane’s own abilities were not that strong nor that intrinsic. Shiane needed to draw power from the elements around her but what had just happened came from an unknown source. No, not exactly unknown, just unexpected.

  “At least I know you will be safe, Aletheia. If this is what you can do before you are even born, I marvel to think what you will become capable of. Whatever it is, you will make me proud.”

  Chapter Three

  Shiane made it to Ristol without any further trouble or threat. The terrain was entirely different to LeShail. Instead of harsh rocky ground, the land was boggy and only passable at certain times of the day, when the sea waters subsided from the land. At all other times, crossing to the dwindling city was hazardous. The pock-marked mud-pits filled with seawater and were famous for claiming many victims. Shiane’s eyes illuminated sharply and reflected off the deep-water pits, enabling her to carefully navigate the terrain.

  She only planned to stay in Ristol for a few days, any longer and she would be noticed, any less and she risked missing him. Ulliel was due in town. She knew this from her visions and felt sure that she had her timing right.

  The people in the small city were accustomed to travellers passing through. They had been one of the last cities to retain the Machine power, along with Girum in the north and Shalstern in the east. Three huge underground cables, each as wide as a house, ran from these cities toward Arkaiden where the Machine had been built. The cables had been the lifeblood of the cities, supplying light, heat and power to the remotest parts of the orb. However, one by one, the outer cities were abandoned until only Arkaiden held the power: It still did. The council in Arkaiden were reluctant to share with others, and when the people migrated in their droves to the last sanctuary from the blackened sky, Arkaiden shut their doors and built towering, white walls to keep the others out. It had remained that way for so long that the outlanders spoke of Arkaiden as though it was a fantasy land. It was a fairy tale dream they told their children to soothe their nightmares.

  Ristol, and cities like it, suffered worst. The people hadn’t acclimated to the world around them and the changes were too sudden for many of them to cope. In Ristol, the people could not see in the dark or manipulate the elements. They relied on ancient techniques and lit their homes with fire. They had managed to generate a small amount of electricity from the power of the sea but it was not enough to replace the Machine.

  “Can I help you miss?” A wizened old man asked from behind a short wooden table which had seen better days.

  “How much for one of your rooms?”

  “’Ow long will you be needin’ it?” he asked.

  “Two nights.”

  “Hmm what have you got to trade?”

  “Not much. I have an old collection of coins, a bit of lace and some Lady’s finery,” Shiane offered.

  “Let me see your finery. It has been a long while since my missus has had anything fine.”

  Shiane pulled out a selection of pretty dresses made by her mother and displayed them carefully
upon the table top. On top of these she laid out a rare breast holster and matching lace panties. They were antiques but in good repair. The old man’s eyes nearly fell from his head but his greed clamped his lips shut. He knew, just as Shiane did, that the collection would pay for a week at least – plus meals – but the man looked set to bargain her down.

  “They won’t fit my old girl. No good to me, Pet.”

  “Then what do you need?” she asked shoving the goods back into her bag, unwilling to bargain at all.

  “Now, I didn’t say I wouldn’t take ‘em, girl, just that they wouldn’t be fitting my wife,” the man whined as she stuffed the fabric into her bag.

  “I heard you. But you still haven’t answered my question. What do you need?” she asked abruptly.

  “Hell, girl, I need what everyone around here needs. I need more sea oils, more wood that isn’t sodden, more water that isn’t salty, medicine, food . . . You name it, we need it,” The old man grumbled, crumpling himself into a creaky chair and looking forlorn. He gestured to the bag, with a wave of his arm. “Give us those undergarments and you can have your room. It won’t do me any good but my wife will be happy an’ that’s no small blessing in itself.”

  “How about I light your inn for the time I stay and I mix you up some medicines?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, a new understanding crossed his face. “You’re one of them spell-weavers then, girl?” he spoke the words on a whisper, as if such people were dangerous or mythical perhaps.

  Like those in Ristol, most of the survivors of the great disaster clung to the remnants of the old power but some had gone into the darkness and embraced their new life. Shiane was a descendant of these people. They were commonly known as Spell-weavers and were revered for their magic. Although, truthfully, they were no different to anyone else. The harsher nature of the scorched, black earth had simply forced them to learn to use skills that had previously lain dormant because of humanity’s reliance on technology and electricity.