Rise of the Seer

by Brandon Barr

  Winter shook her head. “My life isn’t over yet.”

  A seething mass of dark emotions stirred inside Aven. “But Harvest’s life is over. I loved her. Mother and Father are dead, too. Why didn’t the Makers save them? Do they not care? Or were they too insignificant to be saved?”

  He meant for the words to hurt her, but Winter said nothing. Her expression remained calm, confident. Did she not feel? Had the deep wounds he still felt inside already healed in her?

  “Last time I didn’t act. This time I did.”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference.”

  “You don’t know that,” Winter said.

  “I’ll tell you what I do know. The Makers are no different from the Baron. They are drunk on their own power. They don’t care about us. We are nothing but entertainment to them.”

  “You’re only saying that because you’re upset.”

  “No. I’m saying that because it’s true. The Makers have the power to form planets and stars. They can do anything. So why couldn’t they have given you a gift that you could actually use to save people? Why give you these confusing visions? No matter how you look at it, it’s cruel. The gift they gave you is flawed. A curse to entertain them.”

  “You’re wrong,” said Winter, her voice soft and fierce. But he could hear doubt in it now.

  Aven felt bad about his words. He didn’t want to hurt his twin sister. But she needed to hear the truth. She needed to accept that her devotion to the Makers was not only ridiculous, but dangerous.

  In truth, her visions scared him. Not because of the half-truths they revealed, but because of the control she gave to them. She should have rejected them the day their parents died, the day her visions turned on them both, but instead she leaned on them more than ever.

  Because of them, she believed she didn’t need him. He could not deny how much that hurt.

  WINTER

  How was it that her spirit could be crushed so easily? She’d done it. Killed the toad and saved the bird. That was a victory. Proof that her gift worked. But Aven’s words had stolen her confidence. She wanted to believe what Leaf had told her. She wanted to embrace her destiny and save others. But she had so many doubts, so many fears.

  Her brother thought she was so certain, but the truth was much more complex. He didn’t know the depths to which she questioned the Makers. He seemed to think she closed her eyes and simply followed. But her myriad questions quietly stalked her every day, manifesting themselves in a thousand different forms.

  Aven said the Makers had given her a flawed gift, as if she hadn’t noticed it herself. The truth was that she saw how everything was flawed. She saw clearly the decay inherent in everything around her. From the spring leaves that time would inevitably turn yellow and dead, to the wrinkles at the corners of a person’s eyes that spoke of creeping age that would not be denied. All things grew old and wore down, no matter what any of them did.

  Even those she saved would still die someday.

  She and Aven were only seven when their baby brother Root was delivered stillborn. It was the first time she grasped the uncertainty of life. The death of her baby brother affected her in ways she still didn’t fully grasp. Afterwards, she never saw the world the same way again. When they buried his small form, she held Aven’s hand tighter, knowing there was no way she could hold it forever. Both of them would die in time.

  The temple she was trying to construct to bridge the divide between the goodness she’d felt when Leaf held her and the death she saw all around her was in danger of collapse. Every answer only created more questions.

  She was tired of questions.

  The only thing she could cling to, to keep her head above the chaotic waters of the unknown, was her memory of the awe and love she had experienced in the presence of the Maker. It often did not seem like enough, but it had to be. She had nothing else.

  They had walked while these thoughts went through her mind and now the bleak walls of the fortress were near. Five soldiers waited at the gates. Instinctively her hand moved to the vial holding Whisper. Surely, the Makers would conceal Whisper. They had kept the insect alive this long, far beyond the time any butterfly should have survived.

  The guards’ ugly expressions told her she needed to worry more about herself. She hid her fear behind a calm face, bracing herself for their harassment, but none said a word. They simply stood aside and let the two of them pass.

  Inside the gates a man dressed in strange clothes beckoned to them. He was tall with a trimmed beard. A stylish green cloak was draped over his shoulders, held together in the front by a red jeweled clip. Such extravagance she had only seen on rare occasions, when one of the Royals paying the Baron a visit passed by on the roads.

  “Winter and Aven I presume?” The man’s voice was rich and deep. It almost sounded fake. “The Baron has instructions for you. Follow them to the letter, and it will go well for you.”

  She nodded cautiously, as did Aven.

  “Excellent. Come with me please. My name is Zamlah, and I’ll be overseeing your stay tonight.”

  Two soldiers followed as the tall man led them down a path that led into a garden. Flowers of every size and color adorned the ground while vines and ornate ferns decorated the walls. Nothing she saw was from their local woods or grasslands. Winter found herself wondering about the distant lands the beautiful flora had come from, what fantastic scenery surrounded them in their native settings. Though beautiful, here in this garden, they looked like wayfarers far from home. Their true beauty lay outside the fortress walls, in the wild places these strange flowers were transplanted from. The untamed design of the Makers was a reflection of something at the heart of the universe. It held power. And some unfathomable purpose she desperately wanted to grasp.

  This is what our hard labor earns, Winter tapped. Gardens for the Baron to stroll through.

  Don’t say anything. Don’t cause any problems.

  I was only pointing it out.

  Zamlah opened a door and waved for them to enter. “Do what the girls inside tell you. I’ll return shortly.”

  Through the doorway was an expansive bedroom. Dozens of candles lit the walls, lined the baseboards, and rested on stands and tables. Heavy red drapes had been pulled back from a long couch-bed covered in what Winter guessed were silks. A pack of young women sprang on them the moment they entered. They were dressed in loose, weightless robes, none of which covered much of breast or buttocks. The Baron’s concubines. Winter disliked them instantly.

  “I’m Maizy,” said a woman with cheeks as red as sape berries. “We’re going to pretty you up for your meeting tonight. Undress. We have new clothes for you.”

  She was the tallest of the girls, voice strong, eyes dominant. Winter noticed that none of the women looked much older than she was. All were beautiful, but they reminded her of the flowers in the Baron’s private garden, taken from their homes and forced to bloom for the pleasure of one man only. They didn’t belong here.

  Winter and Aven exchanged looks. Then Aven shrugged and started undressing. Winter followed him, careful to remove her tunic and Whisper’s vial together, to keep it unseen. Unclothed, she stood there awkwardly, nervous at having the woman all staring at her.

  One of the women whistled softly. “She’s a pretty one.”

  “Maybe even prettier than you, Lyda, once we have her cleaned up,” said a short, slender girl with a smirk.

  More giggles and comments as they looked the two of them over. “…my father was a farmer…sunshine turns the skin dark like that…should perk him up, see if he’s bigger than the Baron’s twig…bite your tongue, Neena…handsome faces, both of them.”

  The women fitted clothes on them, gossiping irreverently as they prodded and adjusted. In a strange way, it reminded Winter of when she was a little girl, how her mother would clothe her, adjusting her homespun dress, smiling and fawning, as if she were a doll to be made perfect. Winter found her dislike for the girls ebbing. They were gent
le and not unkind. Three girls toyed with her hair, braiding and teasing out her black strands.

  She glanced at Aven. He had been adorned with an emerald green doublet over a long-sleeved white shirt. His pants were dark leather, tied with a brown sash. It was fine clothing, much finer than anything they owned. These were clothes you only wore if you had money to spare, and you had to travel to Anantium for such fare.

  A huge mirror was brought out. Winter’s mouth fell open when she saw herself. It was her same, crooked nose on her same, simple face but, somehow, the girl she stared at looked beautiful. Her hair was twisted up in braids that left her neck bare, with wisps of hair falling down over her ears. The Baron’s girls had dressed her in a plain blue dress layered over a lacy top. The white sleeves stopped just beyond her elbow. A brown belt was tied around her waist. The garb was simple, but there was elegance to it, and the cloth was very high quality. She reached out and took Aven’s hand.

  What’s this about? she tapped, then gestured to their clothing.

  He squeezed her hand. She searched his eyes but found her own questions there.

  She would keep her eyes and ears wide open tonight, gathering everything she could for the farmers. She said a quick prayer for Rabbit, that she would make it over the fortress walls safely this night. And a prayer for her and Aven, that they would survive the evening. Despite the fancy clothing, and the laughter of the Baron’s concubines, some ominous thing awaited them this evening, and she mustn’t be afraid to face it.

  Seeing her chance, Winter bent and withdrew Whisper’s jar from her old clothing, placing it around her neck. Though she tried to keep it secret, one of the women saw.

  “That’s an unusual keepsake.” She was slender, with red hair and a nose every bit as perfect as Winter’s was crooked. She reached for the jar to look at it closer.

  “It was my father’s gift to me,” lied Winter, tucking it out of sight.

  The redhead nodded and pulled her hand back.

  Once they were dressed, the Baron’s concubines led them from the candlelit room into a stone room adorned with predator pelts and heads. The teeth of the animals showed prominently, every one of them snarling in death. Mixed in amongst them were tapestries and paintings showing the Baron in various hunts.

  She recalled her vision of Aven from last night, the misery on his face. Would the vision come to pass tonight? Was something terrible about to happen to him? Or was the terrible thing going to happen to her? After all, she’d seen him alone and suffering. Maybe it was her death that was causing it.

  She told herself she wasn’t afraid. Whatever was coming, she was ready for it. It was Aven she was afraid for. If something happened to her, what would become of him? How would he survive the loss of his only remaining family member? She wished she could offer him the solace of the Makers, the very beings that filled her life with hope and courage. But he had made his feelings there clear.

  She would simply have to stay alert and watch for her chance to change the vision before it happened.

  Chapter Fifteen

  AVEN

  Aven stared at the animal heads hanging on the walls. Memories surfaced as if out of a dark sea. The screams of loved ones echoed through his thoughts. The last time he was in this corridor, had Harvest or his parents still been alive? Were they breathing their last breaths as he feebly tried to save them? Tried to undo what his careless words had set in motion?

  And Winter. What would happen to Winter tonight? Whatever happened, he had to keep her safe. Nothing else mattered but that. He shuddered and closed his eyes. He’d been careful to do nothing, to say nothing, since that night. He’d done all he could to avoid the wrath of the Baron. Why couldn’t the Baron just leave him and his sister alone?

  You all right? tapped Winter.

  I’m scared.

  Winter squeezed his hand. Stay hopeful, she tapped. We have to be brave.

  We can’t fool ourselves, tapped Aven.

  What are you scared of?

  You already know, he tapped. I don’t want to lose you.

  Winter clamped her hand onto his fingers, as if to say, Stop! Stop being scared.

  When she relented, Aven tapped, You’re horrible at hiding your visions. I know you’ve foreseen something, something terrible.

  I may be able to stop it from happening. But either way, you can’t put all your weight on me. If we’re ever apart, I want to know you’ll be all right. You have to be all right without me.

  Aven felt sick. What did she mean by that? Had she foreseen her own death? He couldn’t bear the thought of it. She was the only person left whom he loved. He hated himself. Hated how weak he’d become. But he couldn’t change it. His fear ruled him now. He’d seen how quickly and brutally those he loved could be ripped from him.

  Winter was all he had. He didn’t know what he’d do if something happened to her.

  “Sit,” said Maizy, motioning to a wooden bench beneath the snarling head of a large bear. “Zamlah shouldn’t be long.”

  “What does Zamlah do for the Baron?” asked Aven.

  “Why, he’s the Baron’s ambassador to the Royals. You should know that. You work for the Baron, don’t you?”

  Aven stared at Maizy. Were they so sheltered in the confines of the fortress not to know what life outside was like?

  “We’re told nothing,” said Winter. “We’re farmers, little better than slaves.”

  Maizy and the other girls looked skeptically at them.

  “Why have we been dressed up like this?” asked Aven.

  A girl with dark curly hair shrugged. “You’re meeting with the Baron tonight. I assume he wants you looking presentable. We weren’t told anything else.”

  “Baron Rhaudius will fill you in,” said the deep, unmistakable voice of Zamlah. He stood in an archway and beckoned them.

  Aven turned to follow, but when he did, a streak of movement caught the corner of his eye. The Baron’s girls screamed. Aven turned, but too late. A muscular body slammed him against the wall, knocking the breath out of him. Cold metal pressed into the side of his face, cutting into his skin. A contorted face drenched in sweat pressed in close to his.

  Harvest’s brother, Pike.

  “Stop it, Pike!” shouted one of the girls.

  “Let him go!” screamed another.

  Zamlah’s voice boomed over the rest. “Pike, you imbecile! You’ll ruin everything!”

  Pike’s eyes bore deep into Aven’s. His hot, panting breath reeked of fermented drink. The blade’s bite lessened slightly, and Pike whispered, “I will kill you. One day. I swear on my family’s graves, I will watch your last painful breath.”

  One of the girls screamed again. Pike turned his head just in time for a ceramic vase to explode against his face. The knife flew out of his hand, and he staggered back, slamming into a table, sending pottery and glass sculptures crashing to the floor.

  Zamlah rushed over to Pike. A soldier ran into the room, sword drawn. Winter dropped the remnants of the vase. Aven stared at the scene in shock. His sister had just cracked the skull of the Baron’s son.

  “Let me see your face,” Winter said to Aven. She touched his cheek gingerly. “It’s bleeding, but it’s not deep.”

  Aven glanced at Pike groaning on the floor. “What have you done?”

  “I thought Pike was going to kill you.”

  “He was only threatening me. He wasn’t going to do anything, not as long as the Baron wants us alive.”

  She looked frightened as the implications of what she’d done soaked in. “I was scared. I didn’t think.”

  “Get your hands off of me!” shouted Pike, enraged. He stood, holding his head. Blood ran down his hands, soaking into the sleeves of his white shirt. “Aven,” he growled. “I’ll kill your ugly twig of a sister too. I swear, I’ll finish the job my father couldn’t do!”

  Four more soldiers arrived. One of them grabbed Aven from behind and locked his arms behind his back.

  “Let him go,�
�� said Zamlah. “He’s the Baron’s guest tonight. Clean up his face, girls. Makeup, whatever you have to do. I want him ready in ten minutes.”

  He turned to the guards. “Accompany Pike to his room. No more drinks. We need him sober and cleaned up by morning.”

  Zamlah’s words compounded Aven’s fears. Whatever the reason he and Winter were there, they were being protected. Even from the Baron’s son.

  AVEN

  Baron Rhaudius was waiting for them in the same dining hall where Aven had begged for his loved ones’ lives, talking to a man wearing the uniform of the Watch. Aven stood there unsure, waiting for the Baron to acknowledge them. After a minute, the Baron finished talking to the man, dismissed him, and looked up at the two of them.

  “Sit,” he said, gesturing at two chairs near him. “Can I offer you some wine?”

  Seeing the Baron again, in this same room—hearing his cruel, hateful voice—caused a sudden anger to rise in Aven. He had to fight to keep hatred he’d stuffed deep down inside from spilling out onto his face. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  “We’re not here for wine,” Winter said, crossing her arms and giving the Baron a rebellious look. “Say what you brought us here for, and let’s be done with it.” Aven tried to take her arm, tried to stop her, but she pulled away.

  The Baron smiled. There was no warmth in the smile. “One of you still has fight left, I see.” He shrugged. “I thought to share a meal with you, build up to the reasons I brought you here, but I can be blunt, too.” He leaned forward and folded his hands before him. “At least sit. It tires me to see you standing there.”

  Aven sat. Winter followed reluctantly.

  Looking at Aven, the Baron said, “Do you know Gray Bear and his mate?”

  A tremor shook Aven. He’d been right. There was no keeping secrets from the Baron.

  “Yes,” said Aven. “I know them. But only a little.”

  “Only a little, you say,” the Baron replied, tilting his head to the side. “Yet you and your sister met with them this morning, at the burned hovel. You seemed very well acquainted then.”