Prophecy's Promise (Prophecy of the Edges Book 1) (19 page)

Bahlym, on behalf of his sister, invited me to come back to his family’s apartments. Apparently, it was uncommon for unmarried adult children to move away from their father’s home and mildly scandalous for an unmarried woman to be alone. I felt like a lost puppy trailing after him. I had told him the apartments in the capital for the Promise would be fine in, but he knew as well as I did that I needed a chaperon to lead me through the brambles of the Empire’s steel forest. And he assured me that his sister would like nothing better than to take over the duty of being my guide. Furthermore, he trusted no guards but his own, and finding good, loyal bodyguards couldn’t be done without time and a good recruiter.

It was only a few blocks away, but we took the flight carriage from the Council building to the tower in which Bahlym’s family lived in order to avoid the crowds. Pandemonium would be an understatement for the chaos in the streets below. Citizens flowed between the buildings. The broadcastible showed scenes of people, wave after wave, walking by chanting. Some shouted, “Protect the Promise,” while others called out, “Protect our children.” Although, I had no idea what children had to do with the Promise, well, besides the one that I carried.

The flight carriage descended gracefully onto one of the few stone structures in the city. While it would have dwarfed the tallest structure in Gryshelm City, the gigantic metal spikes of the other buildings loomed above it. We descended a flight of stairs. Paintings in colors brighter than I’d ever seen on canvas before adorned the walls. It was as if the artist had captured the very essence of wildflowers—their colors and their spirit. The people in the portraits seemed infused with light. The prismatic colors captured the intense light and heat of a summer day.

“Ah, yes, my father likes to display my work,” Bahlym said sheepishly, noticing my attention to the paintings. “I try to put them in inconspicuous places. Most people don’t arrive by hovercraft.”

“They should be displayed more prominently. They are gorgeous.” I gazed at a painting of a pond at night, the stars and moon reflected on the water. I could almost feel the gods gazing down, infused with the starlight. “How often do you paint?”

“I don’t. Not anymore.”

“You should.”

“Responsibilities do not leave time for childish pastimes,” he snapped and turned away from the paintings.

“I understand. I’ve followed responsibilities instead of my own passions, too,” I said, but he didn’t respond. I followed him down the stairs and into a large, open room. A stunning young woman, perhaps only a few years older than I, and a man in his late fifties perched side by side on a settee. The woman’s legs were crossed and the hem of her brown dress revealed far more leg than any woman in Gryshelm would ever consider, even inside the home. She dangled a black shoe from the tip of her toe.

“Adara, thank the Guardians you are home!” Bahlym said, hugging the woman. “I was worried that you’d get it in your head to go out and join that insanity down there.”

“I might have.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “But I couldn’t wait to meet the Promise.” She curtsied to me, her glossy black hair falling in front of her face like a curtain. “Women were first allowed into university when we learned that the Prophecy’s Promise was to be a woman.”

“Not before?” I couldn’t keep the horror from my voice.

“No! And you have challenged a man to a duel and he accepted! This is history.” Her plump lips curved in a smile.

“One can hardly dispute that an educated woman will be an even greater asset to her sons,” the man said, “but I do not see the benefits of a pregnant woman dueling a grown man simply to prove a point.”

“Adara’s fiancé, Merehan Dehdarad,” Bahlym said dryly.

“Dehdarad?” I asked, recalling the name of the Councilman that I’d challenged.

“Yes, but my nephew is highly insufferable, so I don’t begrudge the challenge. It was quite enjoyable seeing his face when you threw down the glove. I don’t think he’s been at a loss for words since birth.”

“Merehan, don’t be modest. Wordsmithing is a family blessing,” Bahlym teased.

“I cannot dispute, only redirect,” he acknowledged. “Where is my future father-in-law this evening?”

“Called away on urgent business to the South, I’m afraid,” Bahlym said. “Adara, don’t pout; he’ll meet our new friend soon enough.”

Adara
was
momentarily pouting, but then turned quizzically to me. “Is it true what the reporters said about you having a mental block? I thought maybe Merehan could help.”

“The young woman has had enough traumas over the past few days. Perhaps something so drastic as removing such a block should wait for her to regain her emotional balance,” Bahlym suggested.

“Emotional balance obtained. I want this block gone
now
,” I declared without hesitation. “I’ve spent too long only knowing half of who I am. I want to know the whole of it as soon as possible.”

“See, brother,” Adara said. “We’re not fragile creatures.”

“What needs to be done?” I asked.

“As a psychotherapist, I’ve experience in both placing and lifting memory blocks.” At my shocked expression, he added, “But sometimes, forgetting is a blessing. Are you sure you want to see that which has been hidden?”

“Without hesitation,” I declared. “There is no knowledge that I fear.”

“Very well. Let’s get started then.”

“Now?”

“If you are ready for it,” Bahlym said.

“I’m ready.”

Adara clapped her hands in excitement. “Nothing so interesting has happened here before.”

Merehan guided me to a chair then pulled another up in front of me. “I can feel the pattern across our Edge. Across our Edge,” he repeated. “That’s unbelievable. The Mist feels the same, but the vibrations are off.” I could feel him Weaving, but I could still not feel the block. Although I imagine that was part of the sophistication of the pattern. If the person with blocked memories knew the block was there, then the block would be significantly less effective. “Let go,” Merehan commanded.

“Of what?”

“Of the block,” he replied.

“I’m not holding on.”

Merehan stood up, letting the threads of his woven Mist tumble to disarray. “You are holding on, even if you are not aware. As I said, sometimes forgetting is a blessing. Maybe you don’t want to remember.”

“I do.” My voice sounded angrier than I’d intended.

“You are fighting. Your control of the Mist far is too strong. If I push too hard, you could push back unintentionally, and I do not doubt your ability to grievously injure me.”

“Maybe we can try again later?” Adara suggested.

“Of course. I’ve probably loosened the edges of the pattern somewhat. Perhaps next time, we will get further.” Merehan sat back and considered me for a few moments. “As an aside, I’m no longer concerned for your safety tomorrow. I’m concerned for Drahwan’s.”

A servant entered the room and said something to us. “Dinner is ready,” Adara translated for me, taking my arm. “I am so very excited that you are here, in my house. I’ve been working so hard for equal rights and finally there is hope!”

Dinner consisted of roasted lamb, root vegetables, and a dark spherical grain that I’d not seen before. The food seemed to be steeped in salt and contained no other discernible spices. I sat back and listened to Adara and Bahlym share stories of their youth, but it was soon evident to everyone that I struggled to stay awake. Even outside of the past day and a half, I’d had too much excitement and not enough rest. Adara led me to a guest bedroom.

Closing the door, I sank to the ground, pulling my long hair back from my face. I tried to breathe slowly. After a few minutes, I stood up and walked over to a sink. Splashing cold water on my face didn’t help.

I hadn’t been in this world more than a day and a half, but it seemed like a lifetime. Already I have touched foot on land that no Gryshelmian had in a thousand years, filled with customs and mores so alien to my own, many of which I have thoroughly insulted and ignored. I have taken personal ownership over the completion of the Prophecy that would ultimately destroy the world if I failed. I have seen the Mist woven in ways I could not have ever imagined. I have learned that I am to be a mother. I have met new friends and made new enemies. And I’ve agreed to fight in a duel. A duel to the death.

I prepared for sleep, and then crawled into the bed. I dug the locket from my bag and laid it beside my head on the pillow. Tonight, Altis dined in a public house. The raucous music filled my ears. He sat in a shadowed corner, observing the merriment. I closed the locket, stroking the gilded front, and drifted to sleep like a bottle tossed into the middle of the ocean, quietly rocking, but all alone. The message inside hidden, maybe lost.

I am standing in a tiny cottage, my childhood home. Euan holds my hand. My father brings home a clock that has a bird pop out and remind us of each hour. A girl, her name is Sara, hops up and touches it and it starts to melt, oozing down the wall toward her. I want to run over to her, but I cannot move. Roots of a giant tree growing inside the house attach my feet to the ground. The bird from the clock pops out. Coo Coo. It is a hawk, not a cute sparrow or a blue jay. It does not go back into the clock. It flies to the tree. A feather falls to my feet. I tell Euan to leave. He doesn’t want to, but I tell him to go make sure Brody is okay, so he leaves. I try to move. Still cannot. I push against the tree, but now we are on a mountain. The clock is still there and so is the tree. The hawk calls a warning. Sara looks up at the clock as it floats in the air continuing to drip toward her face. I don’t know why, but I must help the girl. I yell, but she doesn’t hear me. My mother comes to pull Sara away. Her back is to me. I cannot see her face. The clock explodes. Both of them disappear. Tiny shards of the clock fly at my face. I still cannot move. Nazarie is there, blocking me from the explosion. I am safe. I am in the tree. I look down at Nazarie, watching as she picks up each tiny piece of clock dust, smiling at them. Holding her hand flat she blows them at my father.

I woke up sticky with sweat. I knew that the dream was my own. No Mist forced it into being, but I hadn’t dreamed of my family before. Had Merehan succeeded in opening a tiny crack of my memory block? Was the dream my subconscious trying to cast off the Mist threads of the block? Or was I overwhelmed to the point of having nightmares? I didn’t know.

“No, you don’t understand,” Adara said impatiently over breakfast the next morning. “This won’t be an easy duel. He’s good.”

“How good?” I asked.

“Very.” Sliding the silver tray across the table, she selected another thin pastry, sprinkled with raisins, cinnamon, and chopped nuts and slathered it with a thick fruity jam. “He was a… well known… followed…” I didn’t know the word for celebrity in Cuneiform, either, so I nodded my head so that she would continue. “That’s how he became popular enough to challenge a former Council member to a duel and ultimately win his own Council seat. It’s practically a religion of its own here. You’ve seen the broadcastibles, right?” she asked. “Practically the whole world will tune in to watch this duel. No one challenges Drahwan anymore, and of course, there has never been a female competitor before.”

I picked up a pastry and bit into it. The sweet combination of flavors was far from anything I’d had before, but very tasty. “So it’s been a long time since he’s fought?”

“Not really. I hear he practices daily, usually him verses ten to twelve of his own personal guard.”

“Fantastic.”

“Well, if you win, it will really show that women are as capable as men. More even.”

“If I lose? The Prophecy doesn’t exactly cover my ability to duel.”

Adara shrugged. “He is undefeated, which is not a small thing. He’s fought over a hundred duels, but he never leaves his opponents alive. You couldn’t have come through our Edge if you weren’t the Promise. You can’t die until you start the Prophecy. Logically, it follows that you will win.”

“Fantastic,” I said again. “What was I thinking? Solely because a millennium ago a prophecy predicted that someone would come save the world doesn’t mean I could win a duel against a champion.”

“You are destined to defeat Azabin. Drahwan is nothing in comparison to a monster created by the gods. You’ll be fine,” Adara said matter-of-factly.

“I think that I’m destined to fight him.  The Promise doesn’t guarantee winning.”

Adara pondered this for a moment and looked a bit relived when a metallic clang sounded.  She rushed over to a little box and began speaking into it in the language that I didn’t understand.  She paused to listen, and then spoke again. She turned around to me. “Drahwan is downstairs. He wishes to speak with you.”

Bahlym, who had come into the kitchen when the box had been ringing, shook his head adamantly, “Absolutely not. There is no scenario that makes it appropriate for a man to call unbidden upon a young woman, nor should a challenged approach a challenger.”

“It’s fine. I’d like to hear what he has to say. Maybe I will observe something that will help this evening,” I said.

“Or maybe he will,” Bahlym said.

“Send him up,” I said. Adara looked between Bahlym and me, unsure of the correct course of action. Bahlym relented, and Drahwan was ushered to the formal parlor.

“I have come to allow you to release Hailey Troubade from this duel,” Drahwan said to Bahlym, as if neither Adara nor I existed in the room.

“Then you’ve wasted your time coming here,” I said to him.

He jumped, surprised that I had spoken, but knelt on the ground before me. “Please. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Or maybe you don’t want me to hurt you,” I suggested, to which he laughed, a mirthless sound, and stood back up.

“If you are worried about embarrassing yourself, I will resign, if you desire,” he said, waiting several minutes for me to respond, but I did not. Adara and Bahlym watched us, quietly, following my lead, waiting for Drahwan to continue, which with a sigh, he did. “I do think you may be the Promise. How else could you have come through?” He wrung his hands. “There is no solution for me. If you win, which is unlikely, I will be dead.”

“I won’t kill you,” I promised. “I have taken lives and don’t feel like adding another to that list.”

“If you win, please kill me,” Drahwan replied. “My life, should I lose to you, will be worse than a death. I will be filled with shame; my titles will be yours. But, I have fought hundreds of duels and never lost so that is an unlikely scenario. If I win, I have been ordered to kill you. Your titles will fall to me. I don’t want to be the Promise.”

“I don’t think that the Promise is a title to pass around.”

“Regardless, I will win, and I will kill you, although I don’t want to. Please, release both of us from this.”

“I cannot. I am sorry that I’ve pulled you into this, but you are the best. Beating the best says a lot more than beating a random politician.”

He took his leave, begging me one more time to reconsider. I spent the rest of the morning watching dozens of Drahwan’s previously recorded duels, trying to find a weakness. He had spoken truthfully; defeating him was unlikely. He didn’t even use similar tactics each time. While his most-used weapon, and the most cliché power from either Slice was Mist Lightning, he did not use it exclusively. Other times, he preferred to shape the elements, calling down a micro hurricane on his opponent. A few times, he simply lifted his opponent up by the neck, cutting off their air and strangling them. And once, he pulled the stones of the arena itself on top of a man, crushing his body.

Most of his opponents died quickly, but some he played with like Nazarie’s cat after a mouse, enjoying the game, allowing the mouse to think it could escape, but in reality, the mouse never had a chance. There were only two things consistent between all the duels. First, Drahwan always had some element of theater. He didn’t fight. He danced. If he created a blizzard in the heat of the summer, he allowed a dusting of snow to fall upon the crowd. His Mist Lightning, instead of going straight, made beautiful shapes as he tore limbs from his opponent. And, second, he always ended the duel with death, which was always a hit with the bloodthirsty crowd.

Maybe Adara was right. If I lost, it would definitely prove, with my death, that I was not the Promise.

This evening was going to be very interesting.