Chapter Four: A Different Kind of Unfair

Raine is struck down by the Gods for failing to heed their call, and is revealed to the entire kingdom to be the Seer.

Giorge had never in his life felt so weary.  A search of three towns had yielded no sign or sighting of his eldest daughter or of the Crown Prince.  He had a sick feeling in his stomach.  At last, Duke Ellin called off his men, determining that they would do better to search by daylight.  Disheartened, Giorge agreed.

            No one spoke a word as the procession made its way back to the sleeping manor.  Several glances were exchanged, however, amongst some of the more seasoned guards.  Phoebus as well regarded as the Thief of Night.  He had, on several occasions, been spotted conversing with a maid or kitchen hand, only to vanish in the dead of night without a trace.  It was whispered that he rendezvoused with the young ladies in a secret location he had discovered in his childhood.  Whatever he did with the girls at night, there was no trace of a connection the next day, which led a few to believe that there was reason to doubt his highly publicized philandering, but it was not enough to quell the quiet storm of murmured rumors that followed him.

            Secretly, Duke Ellin shared in that line of thinking.  Though he adored his nephew in several aspects, his reckless nature was often a sore spot in their otherwise flawless relationship.  He had on too many occasions made up elaborate lies about Phoebus’s whereabouts so as not to ignite the wrath of his brother the king.  Until this evening, he had never had to round up his men and tear though his wards’ homes.  It was deeply embarrassing, doubly so as he lost face before the most loyal and favored overseer in his employ.

            They reached the stables, where Phinneus sat shivering in the shadowed bales of hay.  He darted out to greet the search party.  “Any word?” he asked, eyes darting along the line of men.

            “Nothing yet.”  Duke Ellin dismounted.  He handed the reins off to a stable boy.  “We will pick up the search again in the morning.”

            Phinneus pulled at his hair.  “This can’t be happening,” he muttered.

            “Giorge, this is Phinneus’s, Prince Phoebus’s warden.  Phinneus, this is Giorge Acadia, the manor’s new overseer and---”

            “---And father of the girl your prince saw fit to make off with this evening,” Giorge cut in testily.

Phinneus ran his hands over his face and sighed.  “I apologize, sir, for whatever inconvenience this may cause you.”

Giorge bristled.  He glared at the nervous elderly man.  “Not so much of an inconvenience on my part as a grave miscalculation on his.”

Duke Ellin had never seen Giorge so heated.  There was a light blazing in his eyes, one that spoke volumes of his displeasure.  He sighed.  “Giorge, you do not mean that,” he said, hoping to diffuse his anger with reason.

“No?  I just spent the better part of the night riding through pre-dawn muck and raiding the houses of my friends and neighbors because your nephew has no sense of honor or responsibility.  I assure you, dear Duke, I mean every word.”

Duke Ellin drew Giorge near.  “You mustn’t say such things,” he whispered.  “I can vouch for you only so much, Giorge.  Threats against the Crown are acts of treason.”

“Then tell his to take off his crown.  One way or another, I am going to see to it that he understands the consequences of his actions.”

Duke Ellin mouthed words, but he could not find a voice for them.  Giorge stomped on ahead, leaving Phinneus and the Duke to exchange a wary glance behind him.

Giorge made his way through the desolate halls, mind afire with thoughts of retribution against the philandering young man that had spirited his dear, innocent daughter away into the night.  His anger had just about reached its peak when he espied his wife in the hall outside of Raine’s room.  She was slumped against the door, chest rising and falling in the deep rhythm of slumber.  Giorge’s ire smoldered.  He had not warned his wife of their daughter’s predicament, confident that he would be able to find her quickly.  Torn between the desire to get her to a warm bed and the fear of her wrath as being caught unaware, he began to tiptoe near.

Vera’s eyes popped open.  She fixed her husband with a cool stare.  “Giorge…”

Giorge held his hand up.  “I can explain, my dear.”

Vera drew herself up stiffly.  She planted her hands on her hips.  “Oh, would you?  I would love to hear your explanation as to why, two hours after the guests have all left, our daughter is not in her bed and you are gallivanting about ringing through town.”

Giorge winced.  “My dear, let us sit a while.”

“I don’t wish to sit, you mutton head!  You were the one voicing objections about her taking too much drink, yet you didn’t have enough concern to watch her?  I am beyond vexed with you, my love.”  She huffed out a frustrated sigh.  “I suppose there were no leads.”

“Not yet.  Ellin’s men will search again at first light.”

“And you with them.”

“Of course, my love.”

Vera shook her head.  “My head is throbbing.  I need to lie down.”

“Of course, my love.”  Giorge took her arm and began to lead her toward their room.  She pulled back.  “No, here.  I want to wait for her here.”

“Not in the hall, my lady.  There’s a guard inside keeping watch; I’ll relieve him and you can rest on her bed, if you’d like.”

“I’d like that very much.”

Giorge hugged his wife to his side.  Giving her an encouraging squeeze, he opened the door.

The guard was slumped in a chair, arms crossed.  His staccato snoring punctured the still night air.  Vera moved forward to touch his arm.  He flailed and gasped, waving his weapon haphazardly about.  Giorge pushed Vera behind him.  “Dear sir"“ he began.  His gaze travelled to where the moonbeams flooded the bed.  His breath caught in his throat.

The hand woven quilts, once carefully placed in layers upon the plush mattress, had been cast aside.  The sheets were twisted in a tangle of limbs.  Raine’s golden hair tumbled loose across the pillow.  Her head was cradled in the crook of Phoebus’s arm, and her hand rested on his naked chest.

Vera wriggled out from behind her paralyzed husband.  “Giorge, what has gotten into you?” she huffed.  She rubbed her wrists and followed his gaze.  Her eyes widened.  “Oh,” she murmured.  She fanned herself briskly.  “Oh, my.”  Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she folded abruptly to the ground.

Giorge’s vision blazed white, then red.  Before the guard could collect himself, he had started forward in a rage.  He grabbed the young prince’s ankle and jerked him from the bed.

Phoebus woke with a start.  He saw stars as his head hit the stone floor.  He gasped and grabbed his skull.  He had scarcely opened his eyes to glimpse his attacker when he was hauled to his feet and shoved against the wall.  “I don’t care what anyone says,” Giorge growled, eyes wild.  “I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands, you insatiable scoundrel!”

Raine pushed to a sitting position in the bed, disoriented.  “Father, stop it!” she cried.  “He was only trying to---“

She paused.  She glanced down at her thin cotton shift.  Her lips moved, but only ragged breaths escaped.  She pulled the sheet up to her neck.  “Oh, no…”

Giorge pressed his forearm against the young prince’s throat.  Phoebus coughed and sputtered.  He was an excellent warrior, with extensive military training.  He had been thrust into battle scenarios identical to the one he was in now.  But, somehow, he was unable to budge the steely arm that was slowly draining his life.  His eyes rolled as he struggled to keep conscious.

The guard’s long knife screamed as it left its holder.  He held the blade to Giorge’s back.  Giorge stiffened.  The ire in his gaze doused.  “Don’t make me use it, Giorge,” the guard warned, a sheen of sweat on his brow.  He gripped Giorge’s shoulder and eased him back.  Giorge raised his hands in surrender.

Phoebus keeled over, coughing.  He rubbed the fresh bruises on his throat.  A spark of indignation sent his body aquiver, but self-preservation kicked in when he met Giorge’s murderous glare.  “Look,” he began.  “This isn’t what it looks like"“

Giorge shook the guard off and began to strangle him again.

 

It took three guards and several empty threats to eventually pry Giorge away from the abused and disoriented prince.  He was escorted at knife point from the room.  Duke Ellin wasn’t far behind, leading Phoebus with a firm hand on his neck.  Vera had been tended to and was coming around.  The remaining men cleared out to grant the women a moment of privacy, shooing the crowd of nosy servants away from the door before closing it behind them.  Vera lifted her head from the marble vanity and looked at Raine.

Raine’s eyes shimmered.  She stared at the foot of her bed.  Her hands clutched the sheets to her throat.  Though the room was warm, she shivered.  “What have I done,” she whispered.

Vera trembled as well as her shock over the events gave way to a bone-chilling fear for her daughter.  It was well known that the king was a man of rigid moral fiber.  He was a great commander, and a just ruler, but he had an iron will.  Few had crossed him.  Those that had were never heard from again.  Whether they were disposed of or simply not allowed to rejoin society was unknown.  Now her daughter, a lowly service worker in the eyes of the king, had shared a bed with the prince.  Worse yet, the rumors had already spread like wildfire around the manor, and likely in the surrounding towns.  Perhaps she would be looked upon as a vile temptress, or a woman vying for the crown.  Both possibilities left Vera shaken.

But then she watched a tear fall from her daughter’s eyes, then another.  With a sigh, Raine dropped her face into her hands.  Her entire body quivered as she attempted to stifle her sobs.  Vera squared her shoulders.  There was no use worrying about what was to come.  No doubt, Raine was fretting about just that.  She drifted from the vanity stool to the bed beside her daughter.  She touched her shoulders.

Raine laid her head on her mother’s lap.  Tears streamed down her face, soaking the rough fabric of Vera’s skirt.  Vera stroked her hair.  “Shush, now.  No tears.  I won’t let anything happen to you.  Shhhh.”

They both knew the words that she spoke were empty.  Vera had no influence over the Crown.  If they were to run, they would have nowhere to go, and Giorge would likely be the one punished for such an insubordinate course of action.  The outlook was grim.  Despite the reality, her gentle voice was soothing to Raine.  Her tears subsided.  She stared, unseeing, into her uncertain future.  Suddenly, she gasped and shot up.  “Alshitar.”

Vera stared at her, aghast.  “Well you can’t go now.  Duke Ellin has guards posted all over the manor, and he has the stables locked down until further notice.”

“The attacks are getting stronger, Mother, and closer together.  If I don’t go now, I will be exposed.”

“What am I supposed to tell them if you do leave?  Exposure is a risk either way, and it would do you no good to test the limits of the Duke’s patience now.”

“You don’t understand, mother,” Raine said.  “The attack last night was far more than a simple warning.  I have never dismissed a summons before.  And, no disrespect to the Duke, but my fear of the wrath of the gods far exceeds my fear of demotion.”

“How do you intend to get past the guards?”

Raine regarded her mother with a level gaze.

 

Behind the closed doors of Duke Ellin’s office, there was far less peace.  In fact, the tension had been so thick, and the animosity between the men so fierce, that he was forced to separate them and question them privately.  Having taken Giorge’s infuriated account of the events down, he now sat before Phoebus.  The young prince was slumped in his seat, studying the floor as though he could find answers in the dimples and crevices.  Duke Ellin laced his fingers.  “Why don’t you start from when you left the ballroom?”

“I demand legal counsel,” Phoebus intoned.

“In the case that your memory has failed you, dear nephew, I am your legal counsel.”

“Don’t you think you’ll be a bit biased?”

“Perhaps.  You did run off with one of my employees in the midst of her introductory celebration.  That her father is the most competent man who has run my estate may play a role in my disfavor toward you.”  His voice gained heat.  “That you were caught abed with his unmarried virgin daughter may factor heavily against you.”  He cleared his throat and leaned back, tapping a pen to the notebook before him.  “Nonetheless, I am here to hear your end of things.  It will be important to have an accurate telling of all accounts when I present this case to your father.”

Phoebus shot to his feet.  “My father?”

“Yes.”

“Are you mad?  You cannot tell my father of this!”

“Please do calm yourself, Phoebus.  You are overexcited, and I need you to have a cool head when I take down your testimony.”

“Nothing happened!  Despite what it appeared to be, it couldn’t have.  There has to be some other way to resolve this.”

“Phoebus, sit.  Please.”

“Think of the girl.  You know what my father will do if you come to him with this.  Don’t do this to her.”

Duke Ellin had considered his older brother’s virulent temper.  He knew that, in matters of civil disobedience, the king was anything but lenient.  More often he was downright brutal.  The duke could only imagine how he would treat someone"a commoner!--who had allegedly coupled with his son out of wedlock.  The possibilities were endless, and all chilled him.  However, the duke was a man of the law.  If he withheld the event, the rumors would spread to the king’s ears, and he would no doubt be disbarred.  No matter what course of action he took, there would be no winning.

Rather than explain the hopeless nature of the situation to his beloved nephew, he put on a mask of supreme indifference.  He could tell by the look of faltering will in Phoebus’s eyes that he would be unable to resist the pressure much longer.  With a sigh, Phoebus flopped into the facing chair.  “I can’t remember.”

“Oh, come now.”

“It’s the truth.  We took a ride, went to a bar.  Everything after that is hazy.  But I know I didn’t touch her.  And she doesn’t deserve whatever hell my old man is going to put her through if you make her go to his court.”

Duke Ellin scratched out the brief statement.  He turned it around and laid the pen atop the document.  “Sign here, please.”

Phoebus scowled.  He scribbled a signature, nearly tearing the paper with his vehemence, and threw the pen down.  “Are we done here?”

“Not quite,” Duke Ellin said.  “Phinneus!”

Two armored guards allowed Phinneus access.  He entered and bowed.  “Please make sure all of Prince Phoebus’s things have been gathered together.  We make for the palace in an hour.

“Of course,” Phinneus said.  Without so much as a warm glance toward Phoebus, he bowed and exited.

“What of me,” Phoebus queried, fire in his eyes.  “Will you escort me from the premises in shackles?”

“Not quite yet.”  Duke Elin closed his notebook.  He stood, holding the documents to his side.  “You will remain here while we prepare for your departure.  Do make yourself comfortable.”   He made a slow bow.  “I will send for you in an hour.”

Phoebus stood as Duke Ellin took his leave.  His pulse pounded hot with fear and anger.  With a growl, he grabbed the closest object and threw it across the room.  The vase smashed into hundreds of pieces, sending shards of glass, fat fingers of water and sprays of delicate blooms flying.

 

            Raine took a deep breath.  Guards milled about the courtyard below, generally attempting to look busy while doing mostly nothing.  Some engaged in light conversation while shining their weapons.  Some were steadfast at their posts, unflinching.  None, however, noticed Raine half-hanging out of her window.

            “This is a terrible idea,” Vera hissed.  She tugged at Raine’s tunic.  “Come back from the window.”

            Raine stepped back.  She touched her mother’s cheeks.  “I’ll be fine.”

            “I don’t like the idea of you going around disrupting the balance.  Surely there are consequences for such things.”

            “What I reap, I will sow.  I am to go to them by any means necessary.”

            Vera frowned, but kissed her daughter.  “I don’t know why I bother.  You’ve always been an obedient child, and I suppose gods trump your own mother.”

            Raine leaned out the window.  She gazed over the valley.  Wind caressed the tall, golden wheat in the vast fields and filtered through the endless stretch of trees.  She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes.  Her lips parted, and a low, lyrical chant welled from her throat.  The melody was carried away by a strong breeze.  It danced and twisted away, over the forest, into the heavens.

            For a heart stopping moment, there was nothing.  Then the wind slowed to a halt.  A bird, frozen mid-flight, hovered a few feet from Raine’s window.  She glanced below.  The guards were motionless.  Raine smiled.  She closed the window and grabbed the dark rider’s cloak her mother had laid out for her on the bed.  She stopped to kiss her mother’s cheek before racing from the room.

            Her footsteps pounded on the tiled floor, muffled by the deafening beating of her heart.  She made several false starts, unfamiliar as she was with the layout of the home.  Adrenaline pushed her along at a rapid pace.  She wove in and out of rooms, slipping past guards and hired help paused in the midst of their everyday tasks.  She opened a door, praying that it would lead to the main hall.

            Phoebus was in a cushioned chair.  He was leaned forward, staring at the ground, fingers interlaced.  Raine’s breath caught in her throat.  His brow was furrowed, and the look in his eyes of absolute hopelessness and melancholy tore at her heart.  Though she still had no recollection of the previous night’s events, she bore no grudge against him.  From what she knew of him, he was incapable of committing the vile indiscretion her father was assured that he had.

            Her breath was beginning to even.  She broke out of her reverie, stunned at her loss of focus.  She resumed her hunt for the exit.

            When she found it at last and broke out into the daylight, a whisper of wind brushed a strand of hair against her cheek.  Her pace quickened.  She ran to the stables and hurriedly worked at the knots of a horse’s reigns.

            She could feel time slipping from her hold.  It sent waves of tingling sensations through her as bit by bit, time trickled back into place.  She mounted and dug her heels into the steed’s sides.  It took off like a shot, kicking up a storm of dirt and rocks in its wake.  She laughed aloud as time crashed into place, reveling in the perfect execution of her first attempt at a new manipulation.

            Her mirth was short-lived, however, when she came to realize that she had overlooked a very crucial detail in her escape plans.  The tall, black iron gates that surrounded the manor were tightly closed.  There were also, it turned out, heavily guarded but less-than-incompetent and not-easily-sweet-talked men.  As they slapped her wrists in a cold pair of shackles and led her back into the manor, she glanced up at the window.  Vera was shaking her head and moving her lips.  Raine sighed.  Her mother always warned her of consequences, and the one time she made the attempt to take a risk she was caught.  She decided then and there to never tempt fate again.

 

            There was some discussion about whether keeping a “victim” of Phoebus’s amorous entanglement in shackles was a just decision.  Ultimately, it was decided that both parties were clear flight risks, and best kept under close supervision.  So they were carted in a long procession down the long, winding road to Saladooran’s ivory towers.

            Giorge did not speak a word to his daughter.  He stared out the narrow window of the carriage with an unreadable expression.  Raine glanced at him several time, silently imploring him to look her way, if only once.  Vera rested her hand over her daughter’s, bringing tears to Raine’s eyes.  Blinking furiously, she leaned against the facing window and watched the trees fly by.  Her shame grew little by little, working its way into a pressing weight on her chest.  It was difficult to breathe, but she managed to keep her warring emotions in check.  There was no use begging forgiveness now.

            Phoebus’s car did not yield a significant improvement of mood.  Duke Ellin had opted to lead the caravan, effectively distancing himself from his woebegone nephew.  He sat on a cold, hard bench seat, flanked by two highly trained guards sent from the Saladian palace whose mere appearance quelled thoughts of escape.  Phinneus sat opposite him.  He kept a watchful eye on Phoebus but had likewise held his tongue.

Phoebus hung his head low.  His shackles clattered against his seat.  “Just do it.”

Phinneus snorted.  He turned up his nose.  “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do.  It only happens every time.  Tell me how irresponsible and reckless I have been.  While you’re at it, you may as well throw disingenuous into the mix.”

Phinneus set his jaw.  He considered for a moment.  “Disingenuous is a far milder term than any I would use at the moment.”  He straightened in his seat.  He fiddled with the lapels of his jacket and smoothed the fabric of his smooth cotton pants with stiff fingers.  His taut jaw trembled, and his eyes darted from tree to tree in the passing landscape.

Phoebus knew what all those nervous movements meant.  He was enraged.  If the grinding teeth hadn’t been so pronounced, the incessant rubbing of his jiggling knee would have been a dead giveaway.  It was Phinneus’s most prominent tell.  Ever since his first fist fight with a nobleman’s son at age ten, Phoebus had learned to avoid Phinneus when his nerves got the best of him in that way.  Though he never laid a hand on him, his words cut deeply.  Phoebus leaned back in his seat, waiting for the storm of his advisor’s fury to come to a head.

Instead, Phinneus took a deep breath.  He let it out slowly, relaxing little by little.  “What’s the use?” he said, rubbing his eyes.  “It’s not as though you would listen anyhow, would you?  You never have.”

Phoebus moved to rise.  A guard absently shoved him back down.  Phoebus glared daggers at the brute, but did not try to move again.  Instead, he shifted closer to Phinneus and lowered his voice.  “You have to know that I didn’t do what they’re accusing me of.”

“Which part, highness?  The kidnapping, assault, or adultery?  You’ve a cornucopia of choices.”

“All of it!”  Phoebus sighed.  He looked sharp around at the guards.  Their gazes were locked straight ahead.  He inched closer to Phinneus and lowered his voice.  “I remember most of the night.  Yes, I left with her, but she was a willing participant.  We just needed to get out of there; it was all too clear that she was drowning in that stuffy environment.”

“Where did you go?”

Phoebus hesitated.  “To Rai’jor,” he mumbled.

Phinneus’s eyebrows shot up.  His frown deepened into a scowl.  “So you save her from being overwhelmed by whisking her off to a thieves’ paradise?  Oh, good show, boy.”

“Can you please just listen?  Something happened while we were there.  She had an attack of some sort.  So a friend and I---“

“What manner of friend do you have that is up and about in Rai’jor at night?”

“That’s not important,” Phoebus stammered.  “We got her something to help with her head, and I took some of it, and---“

Phinneus shook his head and waved his hands.  “Stop.  Stop telling me things.”

“You’re the only one who will really listen to what I have to say.”

“You have just confessed to several acts of indecency!”

Phoebus sighed.  “Perhaps I was not wise in my actions"“

“’Stupid’, your highness.  The word is ‘stupid’.”

“Fine, then: stupid.  But I would never have assaulted her.  For one thing, she’s probably strong enough from working the fields to fight me off and for another…”  Phoebus caught himself before he uttered Alia’s name.  It would do more harm than good to identify the third party of their short-lived adventure.  He set his jaw and pulled back.  It was no use.  Without the ability to disclose all players and events, it would be impossible to convince Phinneus of his innocence.  Deep down, he questioned it himself.

As the caravan rolled on and Phinneus gave up attempting to squeeze details from the tight-lipped prince, Phoebus searched his memory of the night before for a single indication of determinate intent.  Surely he would have remembered engaging in an intimate act.  But the clean linen scent of Raine’s hair lingered on his skin, as did the warmth of her cheek on his chest.  It was not impossible, given the questionable content of the vial Alia’s friend have given them.

As soon as he entertained the idea, he pushed it from his mind.  Alia had been present, as far as he knew.  She would never have allowed him to lose his head.  If only she had been around that morning so that he could speak to her!

It was too late for such thoughts.  Before he could sort anything out, he, Giroge and Raine stood before his father.  Their testimonies were read off by an impartial court marshal.  They were each given five minutes to present further defense.  Giorge made no apologies for his actions; Raine could only reiterate what had been written.  Phoebus was last.  He stared into the dispassionate eyes of his father and said nothing.  Court adjourned, and the prisoners were led to the vast courtyard at the palace’s entrance to await their verdicts.  Several noblemen and women milled about, having received word of the scandal hours earlier.  After an eternity of waiting, the king’s aide stepped onto the foyer.  He cleared his throat and produced a scroll from his lapel.

“The court has spoken.  The judgment for Giorge Phillip Acadia is as follows.  He has been found guilty of assault on the Crown.  He shall be henceforth stripped of his lands, title, and position, and be subjected to the stocks for a week.”

Vera shrieked.  She shot forward to grasp her husband’s arm.  Several soldiers tore her grasp away and formed a human wall.  Giorge, pained, could only watch her fall to her hands and knees, a heap of hysterics.  Raine longed to wrap her arm around her distraught mother, but the cold clink of her chains reminded her of her helpless position.  Blinking back tears, she jutted out her chin and raised a defiant glare to the king’s advisor.

He made a small gesture.  Giorge was jerked away, fairly dragged across the courtyard to the entrance to the palace’s holding cells.  Raine bit her lip when the steel door screamed open and Giorge vanished into the deep shadows.  Raine glanced at Phoebus.  She was disgusted to discover him emotionless, staring dead ahead as his father’s heartless advisor continued with the sentencing.

“The judgment for Raine Elise Acadia is as follows.  She has been found guilty of the crimes of adultery, acts of indecency against the Crown, and intent to defame the Crown…”

The roar of outrage from the crowd drowned out the remainder of the sentence.  There was such a din that Raine could not make out her own mother’s cries.  A trickle of dread made its way down her spine.  She lost all feeling in her body.  If she were not held firmly at the elbows by soldiers, she would have collapsed on her shaky limbs.  An insistent pressure on her arm was her only warning before she was hauled half-off her feet to the dungeon.  She scrambled to find footing.

Suddenly, the sunlight began to pulse.  It pained her eyes.  She winced, hiding her face in one of the escort’s shoulder plates.  But it did not cease.  The light continued to flash, faster and faster, brighter and brighter.  Raine tore at her trapped arms with a gasp.  The soldiers redoubled their grip, unaware of the visions that were steadily blinding her.  She convulsed and cried out, her veins afire.

The crowd rippled into silence.  They watched Raine buck and scream with a ferocity unnatural for a woman her size.  They witnessed the glow that emanated from her skin, effusing her baffled captors.  And they all, even the stoic herald of the king, watched in wonder as a supernova of light and sound blasted the men away, leaving Raine hovering, aglow, in the center of the courtyard.  Her shackles crumbled to dust.  Vines sprang up around her.  They eased her unconscious form to the ground before springing up around her in a shield of greenery.

The soldiers exchanged a panicked look.  The king’s advisor shot up in his seat.  “What are you standing around for?  Cut her out of there!”

“No!”

Sebastian glared at Vera.  “You will hold your tongue, citizen, lest you wish to join your husband in the stocks.”

“And you will hold back your men, lest you wish the gods to strike them down,” Vera bit back.

“What insolence!  Seize the girl immediately, and her mother as well.”

“She is the Seer!”

Dead silence fell over the gathered.  Vera shrugged off a stunned guard and pushed her way to the podium.  “The gods are calling her forth.  She must heed the summons, else she will go mad.”

“Gods?” rumbled the king’s low timbre.

Phoebus, railed by the revelation, stared, wide-eyed, as his father stepped out into the grassy courtyard.

Vera shrank back.  She sank to the dewy grass and lowered her head to her knee.  “Your Grace,” she breathed.

The King regarded her.  There was an aloof air about him, but, at that moment, a curiosity as well.  “You would come to this court and claim your daughter messenger of the gods?  Seers are of royal Saladian blood that died out centuries ago.  Have you a way to substantiate your claim?”

Vera tongue went numb.  She strived to speak, but could barely eke out a whimper.  She hung her head.

A great shadow passed over the gathered.  Cries rang out, startling Vera’s attention from her inquisitor.  She looked to the sky.

A firebird moved in great circles overhead.  Guards moved quickly to their posts.  Many locked onto the bird’s movements and signaled that they were at the ready.  But the King watched the great beast with a speculative eye.  “Wait,” he said, stilling his aide’s signal to fire.

It glided down gradually.  The earth smoldered where it landed, a quick and controlled burn.  It edged near the tangle of vines.  With its long, hooked beak, it tore at the imprisonment.  They vines trembled and withered away, exposing Raine’s prone body.  The firebird drew nearer still, cocking its head to examine her.

Panic gripped Vera.  She gasped and stepped forward.  Swords crossed before her, barring her path.

The bird shuddered.  A rain of fiery feathers fell to the ground and crumbled to ash.  Only a downy layer of feathers remained on the creature’s body.  It dipped low and maneuvered Raine onto its back.  Her body curled against its massive form, cradled securely in the bow of its back.  The bird cast its eyes to the sky and beat its blazing flight wings.  Vera watched in amazement as it took to the sky.

The King made a small gesture.  His aide slid up next to him.  “Tell the stable hands to prepare my horse.  Have two soldiers mounted as well.  I wish to see where the girl will end up.”  He turned to reenter the palace.

Phoebus, frozen with disbelief at the events, noticed his father’s imminent departure.  “Wait!” he called out.  “What are you going to do to her?”

The King did not so much as glance back at his hapless son.  He vanished from the courtyard as inconspicuously as he had entered it, amidst the puzzled wonderment of the crowd.  Vera was escorted none too gently to an undisclosed location within the palace.  Soon, only Phoebus was left, unshackled, in the center of the courtyard.   He stared at the sky.  A trail of barely visible white smoke lingered.  Suddenly, he found himself seized with a powerful intent.  He took off across the courtyard, toward the stables.

 

Raine awoke in a room bathed with light.  At least, she assumed it was a room.  There was no discernible ceiling, nor walls, but the sound of the soles of her boots making contact with the solid marble surface beneath her echoed as though she were in the center of a massive ballroom.  She peered about the pure white surroundings.  “Hello?” she called.  “Is anybody out there?”

“You needn’t shout,” chastised a sharp voice behind her.  “The acoustics are quite good here.”

Raine whirled.  Three large orbs of opalescent light pulsed before her.  They hovered above three towering podiums that had not been there a moment before.

Though Raine had been the Seer for a number of years, she had never had direct contact with her, for lack of a better word, employers.  She did, however, know the magnetic force of their influence.  There was no mistaking the identity of her captors.  They were the Fates, the spirits that placed the writing on the stone and supplied the visions that accompanied the words.  She had heard their whispers of summons, and occasionally of guidance.  Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine she would have to face them.  Disarmed, she stared agape at the incandescence.

“I suppose you are wondering why you are here,” the second orb chimed.

“And what it is that we are,” the third ventured.

Realizing that she had lost all sense of composure, Raine righted herself and cleared her throat.  “”No.  It’s fairly clear what you are.  I just never thought that I would have the occasion to meet you.”

“We had very much hoped to avoid just such an occurrence,” the first voice intoned drily.

“It is, after all, the sworn duty of the Seer to heed the call of the Fates, is it not?”

“And, if I am not mistaken, there have been several summons.  I daresay they are difficult to ignore.”

“Impossible,” Raine murmured.

“Ah, excellent!” the third voice said.  “There has not been a Seer in a number of centuries, as I’m sure you know.  It’s wonderful to know the communication system is not faulty; I had feared that it was.”

“Though, only figuratively,” the second voice rushed to add.  “As we are beyond the need or desire for a human feeling such as fear.”

Raine furrowed her brow.  There was a tense silence.  “Anyhow,” the first voice said with what sounded like irritated emphasis.  “Now that we have your undivided attention, there is the matter of your punishment to discuss.”

“Punishment?  But I’ve done nothing wrong!”  Raine shrank back and clapped a hand over her mouth.  She prepared for another splitting headache.  Instead, the second voice continued on, as though her insubordinate outcry were of no consequence.

“You have placed the world at great risk by interrupting the maintenance of the balance.”

Empowered by her newly discovered freedom of discourse, Raine squared her shoulders and lifted her face toward the entities.  “My family needed me; I was to come as soon as I was able.  Aside from which, it was three days.  That’s hardly a lifetime of neglect.”

“Every passing moment is crucial to the balance.  As a Seer, your primary responsibility is to the people of Polithia.”

“I understand that, but"“

“Therefore,” the first voice interrupted, “any amount of negligence is punishable.”

Raine held a hand to her head.  It no longer throbbed from the crippling migraines, but the memory lingered.  She had considered their summons a disciplinary act; that they did not share her views frightened her.  She couldn’t begin to imagine what torment awaited her.

“Do not fear.  Since we now have your strict attention, there is no need to repeat the summons.”

“Nor should you fear for retribution against those who occupied you and prevented you from heeding us.”

“In fact, if we have your full cooperation, we can ensure that what your family has lost can be regained.”

The land!  In the disorientation of her strange surroundings, Raine had nearly forgotten the judgment against her father.  She stepped toward the Fates, fingers interlaced.  “You can restore his titles and position?”

“Of course.  We have a certain degree of influence over such things.”

The room trembled.  A few feet from where Raine stood, a section of the floor collapsed.  Raine peered down onto what appeared to be an illuminated staircase that plunged into depths unknown.

“The stone has been rewritten.  Your path has changed.  This is your punishment.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Read the stone of Alshitar and heed it.  Only then will the wrongs be righted.”

Raine took a deep breath.  Letting it out slowly, she began the seemingly endless descent.  As she treaded lower and lower into the abyss, a biting wind chilled her skin.  Se shivered and rubbed her arms.  Soon, snow accompanied the wind, pelting her hair and clothes.  Teeth chattering, she touched down at the bottom of the stairs.

There, proud and tall and erect before her, was a gargantuan black stone.  It was glossy and smooth with several ancient characters etched into the surface.  The characters changed every moment, forming new predictions before her eyes.  She drew near, a jumble of raw nerves.  Closing her eyes, she laid her hand flat against the stone.  It was icy to the touch, but she forced herself to concentrate on the whispering voices.  Then she saw her future.

Suddenly, she was suffused with a warm glow.  It filled her every pore, illuminating the stone.  The dreariness of the strange place melted away, revealing the snow-covered peak of the mighty Alshitar mountain chain.  The firebird stood watch over her, framing her with its hot, pulsing wings.  Raine gasped.  She tried to tear away from the stone, but her hand was held fast.  She struggled until the whispers and visions stopped.  She tore away, nearly stumbling into the firebird’s flames.  It took off with a cry, freed from its contract.  Raine stood alone in the snow, tears in her eyes.  “No,” she whispered.

Yes, the Fates replied.

 

The king was waiting for her at the bottom of the mountain.  He had a steward put a cloak around her to disguise her dirty, torn clothes.  She did not fight the stiffly formal hospitality.  When Phoebus drew up on horseback, she did not attempt to run the horse they had entrusted her with deep into the forest, though after the King made his informal decree, they had to stop Phoebus from doing so.  She did not shy away when, at the palace, the King ordered a dozen handmaids to adorn her in jewels and a stiff gown in which she could barely breathe.  In fact, she did not allow herself to so much as meet anyone’s gaze until she was ushered to the foyer overlooking the courtyard that she had been judged upon scant hours before.  She looked down into the renewed crowd into the eyes of her father, who was unbound and holding her despairing mother.  He had an empty gaze, as though he were looking at a stranger.

Raine listened expressionlessly as the King boasted that the Seer was to wed in Saladian royalty, where she belonged.  She and Phoebus flanked him.  He took their hands and rested them together lightly between his hot palms.  Though she knew she would regret it, she ventured a glance at her betrothed.  He gazed off into the distance, a barely discernable look of melancholy in his eyes.  She didn’t know who or what he saw, but she had a sick feeling churning in her stomach.

 

“The Seer?  The Seer!”

The small, rickety hut trembled as a door slammed.  Dust rose from every surface, causing a wizened woman in a worn shawl to hack.  She waved the particles from her nose with a half-empty bottle of rum and glared at Alia.  “What are you going on about now, you wretched girl?”

Alia tore her maid’s cap off and untied her apron, hands trembling with barely suppressed rage.  “What do you care?  There’s nothing in it for you.”

“Watch your tone, chit.”  The old woman scoffed before leaning back in her aged armchair and taking a swig of her bottle.  “Such a mouth on you.  I should have slapped you more as a child.”

Alia narrowed her eyes.  “Forgive me, mother.  Perhaps you’ll need another brandy?  A cigarette?  They’re doing wonders for your complexion.”  She rolled her eyes and entered the tapestry covered entrance to the home’s second room.  She balled up the apron and hat and threw them in the corner with a screech.  Her hands went to her hair, clawing her scalp.

Still shaking, she tore a covering from a full length mirror.  She lit the candle surrounding it and knelt amongst them.  Glaring, she intoned in a dark voice with a foreign tongue.

Her reflection rippled, then turned black.  She narrowed her eyes at the faceless apparition.  “You did not tell me that she was the Seer.”

When the figure spoke, it was in the tone of a dozen voices, pitching and inflection at war.  It is inconsequential.

“The hell it is!” Alia snapped.  “She was supposed to be a flighty little weakling, not a being gifted by the gods!”

You, too, are gifted.

“It is not the same.  I felt the power coming from the vines that shielded her.  She is under their protection.  She is untouchable.”

She is not a god.  Her flesh is not impenetrable.

“But the palace walls will be, now that they have her in their possession.”

She is human.  Her ties to the world are what make her so.

“Her family has been given an order of protection as well; I cannot use them.”

The royal family is powerful, but your skills are greater than the defenses the Saladian guard can provide.

Alia shook her head.  “I can’t…”

You can do anything you put your mind to, Alia.  That is why we have entrusted you with our great cause.  Be patient, dear one.  You will receive your prize.  You will have your crown.

Alia stared at the figure.  It had never misled her, never been cruel to her.  She had no reason to doubt it.  “What must I do?” she murmured.