A reluctant prophetess must survive a dark king’s temptations and shadow-bound horrors to claim the one relic that can save her dying people—if the prophecy doesn’t destroy her first.
The story so far…
Table of Contents:
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Awake but groggy after a restless night of trying unsuccessfully to sleep, Idenia stood and rolled up her blanket with clumsy fingers. Lightning cracked in the distance and she flinched. The blanket slipped through her grasp to rest in a disorganized lump on the ground.
An awareness in the spirit world snagged her mind and she shot a glance skyward. There, Idenia’s eyes caught the shadowy form of a dark and hideous creature looming like a spectre in the sky. It shimmered briefly then faded to nothing before she could identify it.
Goosebumps rose on Idenia’s arms and she felt a sudden chill as her spirit felt the awareness of a new evil that now stalked the world of men. With trembling fingers, she reached for her blanket to resume rolling it up.
Nekota passed by on his way to saddle up the horses, then paused and regarded her, concern in his eyes. “Are you all right? Your face is white as snow.”
Uncertain how to answer, Idenia offered a weak smile and nodded but the vision had filled her with a dread that she couldn’t shake off. It loomed over her like an evil spirit as she helped pack the horses for the day’s journey.
As the sun grew low in the sky and late afternoon shadows stretched ahead of the horses and riders, Idenia felt a malevolent presence behind them. She urged her horse forward to speak with Marda.
“Are we planning to stop at sundown or will we be riding through the night?”
“Why do you ask?” Marda raised his eyebrows and peered down at Idenia.
Idenia sought for words to explain herself without sounding foolish. “Well, the horses aren’t terribly weary and I was thinking maybe we could keep going as long as possible.”
“Through the whole night?”
Just then, Anshon trotted his horse past them to speak with the captain. Idenia strained to listen in.
“What is it, Anshon?” Bryton asked.
“I think someone—or something—is following us, sir.”
Idenia, Marda and Bryton all glanced behind them, back the way they had come. With a nod at Bryton, Marda peeled away to ride back and check the road.
“Don’t wait for me,” he called over his shoulder. “Head for Brightwood.”
Bryton picked up the pace and called to Anshon, “Keep a sharp eye from the rear of the column.”
Anshon reined his horse in and rode to the back of the group.
Nekota joined Idenia and, seemingly oblivious to the danger, chattered away while she listened half-heartedly. He turned in his saddle when Marda galloped up behind them, then continued past them to join Captain Bryton at the head of the column. Guardian tossed his head, ears flicking as he tugged at the reins in Marda’s firm grip.
“What is it?” Bryton asked the old soldier.
“The biggest wolves I’ve ever seen.” Marda reined Guardian in until the stallion’s neck arched against the bit and he pranced in place, tension rippling in every muscle. “From the look in their eyes it would seem they might already be famished with the hunger of deep winter,” Marda gasped. “Doesn’t make sense, but that’s the way it looks to me.”
Bryton frowned.
“When I saw them, they sped up as if to attack.” Guardian leapt forward and Marda leaned into the stallion’s mane lest he lose his seat.
“Probably because you were alone. Let’s try to reach Brightwood tonight. It’ll be dark by the time we get there, but we’re dead out here. Stay together, everybody,” Bryton called out as he leaned forward and urged his horse into a canter.
Capes billowed and horses panted as the travelers pressed on through the waning light. The dirt road wound through the forest and followed the low curves of the hills. After a league or so, Idenia heard Nekota cry out from behind.
“Marda! We’ve got trouble.”
Idenia looked over her shoulder and her heart leaped in fear to see two huge wolf-like creatures several paces behind Anshon, eyes glowing red in the darkness. They loped easily as they kept with the panicked horses.
Marda drew back to the rear of the riders and called out, “Anshon! With me!” The other soldier fell back to join Marda. The remaining horses needed little urging to break into a full gallop.
The dark night swallowed the riders as the road grew rougher and the beasts grew closer. Stumbling, Bresa rolled her eyes in terror. Idenia lurched in the saddle and a branch slapped her across the cheek.
Fighting to remain seated, Idenia grabbed a handful of mane, then Bresa caught herself and they ran on, the mare’s sides heaving. Idenia leaned low over the horse’s neck, urging her on, She risked a glance backward to find the wolves still following close behind Marda and Anshon.
“Prophetess!” Bryton yelled. “Do something!”
Me? Why me? No sooner had the question formed, an image flashed through Idenia’s mind. She saw herself standing in the temple, consumed by the glory of the Most High. A remembrance of that all-pervading power filled her and from the depths of her spirit, she cried out, “Spirit of the Most High! Protect us!”
Sweat flecked the horses’ hides. When the two packhorses began to fall behind, Marda and Anshon urged them on with shouts and slaps to their flanks. One of the wolf-creatures lunged forward, jaws snapping.
“Keep going, everyone! We’re almost there,” the captain called out.
The horses surged up the next hill and plunged over the top. On the other side of the decline lay the small town of Brightwood, glimmering in the night. The riders pounded down into the valley toward the settlement.
The horses pulled up at the closed gates in a cloud of dust, just inside a circle of light cast by torches burning atop the walls. The wolves snarled from the darkness.
“Open the gate!” Bryton pounded a fist on the wooden doors.
A guard peered over the top and frowned. “Who is it?”
“We come from the temple. Open up these gates, man! Before we get eaten alive!”
As if on cue, the wolves appeared, snarling and howling at the edge of the circle of light cast by the guard’s lantern.
The guard’s eyes grew wide and his head disappeared. Within moments, the gate budged open just far enough to admit them. Bryton slapped the flank of Idenia’s horse and Bresa lunged through first. Idenia glanced over her shoulder as Anshon nudged his mount forward. She clung to Bresa’s back as the panicked mare pitched and squealed, then grabbed the bit in her teeth and fought for her head.
One by one, the others sped through. Anshon scrambled off his horse and grabbed Bresa’s reins, his other hand on the front of the horse’s face. As he spoke soothingly, the mare quieted and Idenia heaved a sigh of relief. In the darkness outside the timber walls, the wolves howled.
“We never get wolves this close to town! Why’d you bring ’em here?” The gate guard’s frown had turned into a scowl.
“We didn’t have much choice,” Bryton said dryly, his forehead slick with sweat.
The guard looked over the bedraggled group and shook his head. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be wantin’ to rest up. You’ll prob’ly find lodgin’ and a decent barn up at the Golden Cup.” Then he climbed back up to his post and with a frown, peered over the wall into the now-quiet darkness.
Bryton led the exhausted group up the road to the doors of an inn marked with a battered wooden sign on which was carved the rough likeness of a bowl. It appeared that at one time, the cup had been painted some shade of yellow.
The travelers trudged up to the door and stumbled through into a common room dimly lit by lanterns and a fire in the hearth. A portly man in a dirty apron hurried forward and Bryton stepped forward.
“What will it be, good sirs? And lady.” The innkeeper nodded his head in respect.
“Do you have a private room where we can rest?” Bryton asked as he pulled off his gloves.
“Nothing fancy, sir,” he replied. “Just this common area here and several sleeping chambers.”
Bryton grunted. “We’ll need two of your rooms then.” He glanced at Idenia and added, “Make it three. But first a hot drink and some food, if you have any.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have the rooms readied. Meanwhile, have a seat anywhere.”
A long table stood on one side of the room and the travelers sank onto benches with exhausted sighs. Idenia brushed at her dress and dust rose in a cloud, tickling her nose. She fought back a sneeze.
Nekota leaned elbows on the table, chin in his hands. “Every muscle in my body aches! I thought those wolves were having us for dinner!”
“I don’t think those were wolves,” Idenia said quietly from her corner of the bench.
“Then what were they?”
“I don’t know. But they were evil. I could feel their dark spirits—“ she trailed off, then added, “So full of violence.”
Bryton leaned forward and peered at Idenia. “I have to agree with you. I’ve never seen the like. And those red eyes.”
Their words hung in the air and each one seemed to contemplate the implications. Then Idenia remembered the captain’s cry for help.
“Captain Bryton, why did you call for me to do something?”
“Do you not know that our prophets guard the people?” His voice was low, nearly a whisper, and he regarded Idenia with raised eyebrows.
“But I’m not a—“
“A prophetess?” he huffed. “Did Jarska not commission you? If he hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here. Call it what you will, but if you’re not a prophetess, I’m not a captain.”
Idenia caught her breath. She had never considered herself a prophetess. Suddenly, she noticed every eye in the room was focused on her. She felt her face grow warm and she looked down. The high priest’s words sprang to mind. “I commission you to serve the Most High as He decrees. May you always speak His words.”
Bryton was right. It had happened so fast that she had been commissioned and appointed a prophetess without even realizing it. Idenia fell quiet as she tried to wrap her mind around the concept.
Meanwhile, bowls of hot stew were served and the travelers ate in silence. As Idenia swallowed the fragrant, warm soup, she thought of Tasmon and longed for home. Her heart filled with loneliness until she heard the Spirit whisper in her mind.
You are not alone.
Idenia smiled and replied silently, Thank you.
Her thoughts were drawn to the Most High. As she thought of the Spirit’s presence and glory that she had experienced in the temple ceremony, the glorious memory drowned all anxiety.
No, she didn’t have to face this journey alone. She breathed a prayer of thanks and dipped her spoon into her stew. The savory bite warmed what little chill her prayer had not chased away.
Next Week—Chapter 20.
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