Shadows of Prophecy Read online

  “My Lady Sara,” he moaned. “I love you.”

  “And I love you, too,” Sara said, appearing beside Tess with a pitcher of water and her pouch of herbs. “I have loved you from the moment I was old enough to know what love is, Tom Downey. And I will not lose you this day, nor any other. My soul is bound to yours forever.”

  “I love you,” he whispered, eyes fluttering closed. “I love you always, dear Sara Deepwell. Always.”

  And he was still.

  * * * *

  Tess remained filled with the power. It shot about her body like lightning and made her blond hair flow as if in a gale. Her eyes seemed to shoot sparks. All who could see her began to back away in terror, except Sara, who fell across Tom’s lifeless body and wailed.

  Archer ran toward them, consternation on his face. “Lady Tess,” he said sharply. “My Lady Tess, cease!”

  She turned toward him, her face unearthly as it seemed to glow from within. For an instant it appeared she might lash out at him. Then, with a soft cry, she closed her eyes and sagged. An instant later she lay in an unconscious heap.

  “Tom!” Sara cried. “Oh, Tom, I cannot bear to lose you!” She looked up at Archer, her face stained with tears. “Why could she not heal him?”

  Eiehsa knelt beside her and gripped her shoulders, drawing her into a tight embrace. “Hush, my lady, hush. It is in grief that we are born, and into grief we all must come.”

  Archer knelt beside Tess, taking a quick survey. She was once again in that deep sleep that followed her attempts at healing. Then, not doubting the powers she had called on, he bent forward until his ear was next to Tom’s mouth and nose.

  “He breathes,” he told Sara. “He lives.”

  Then he strode away to find Jenah and the other clan elders. The power that Tess had called upon here would not go unnoticed. They needed to move again as swiftly as possible, before worse trouble came their way.

  Whether she knew it or not, Tess had drawn the attention of someone even worse than the Bozandari, for the Enemy would not fail to detect such a huge use of power.

  Their party was truly hunted now.

  The clan elders moved swiftly, comprehending the threat as well as Archer, for they, unlike the races of men, understood such powers. Stoically the Anari swiftly buried their dead and tended the wounded. Stretchers were made for Tom and some of the other wounded, creating even greater burdens for the fleeing villagers, but none complained.

  Ratha, Giri and Jenah, now riding Tom’s horse, rode out ahead to scout. As the fleeing villagers began their trek once more, with Tom in their midst and Sara riding beside his stretcher, Archer came to claim Tess.

  As he had expected, she was still unconscious, but now her hands clasped the twelve stones he had glimpsed only briefly in the past. Carefully prying them from her fingers, he stashed them in the leather pouch that lay beside her on the ground and slipped the cord around her neck.

  Then, swiftly, he mounted his own steed, and two Anari helped lift her onto the saddle before him. With his arms tight around her, keeping her safe, they followed the rest of the villagers.

  He had much to think on. Perhaps too much. Tess had put them all at risk; he would have to warn her to use her powers sparingly. Now trouble would lie around every twist of the path ahead.

  “She spoke the Old Tongue.”

  Eiehsa had come up beside him, riding one of Gewindi-Tel’s few horses. He looked at her, then nodded. Tess’s head bobbed a little against his shoulder, and he adjusted his hold on her, trying to keep her comfortable as well as safe.

  “Few know the Old Tongue,” Eiehsa said. “I myself have only a smattering. Where did she learn it?”

  “I know not. Perhaps in the days before she lost her memory someone tutored her.”

  “Mayhap, although I know of none but yourself with a complete command of the language.” She paused and sighed heavily. “My Lord, did you hear what she spoke?”

  Archer shook his head.

  “She told the gods that she forbade them to take Tom. And then she said, ‘Sisters, help me now. Sisters, rally your strength to me now. Help me now.’”

  His head turned sharply toward her, and the tightening in his chest grew worse. “Are you sure?”

  Eiehsa shrugged. “Nearly. As I said, my command of the Old Tongue is lacking. But…I am fairly certain that is what the Lady said. And in response, fire rained from the heavens, but only upon the Bozandari.”

  Archer looked down at the small woman in his arms, finding it almost impossible to believe now what he had seen with his own eyes: that she had challenged the gods. Even more troubling, however, were the words she had spoken.

  The last prayer of Theriel.

  7

  Once again the refugees began to move, although not without increased security. Jenah sent roving patrols deep into the surrounding mountains. Meanwhile, women at the rear of the column swept away any trace of their passage. Archer doubted that such efforts would be of much effect. The Enemy that tracked them was not relying on footprints in the desert sand. Still, if these arrangements made the Anari more aware of the danger and more alert to any sight or sound, then perhaps there was value in them after all.

  By midafternoon, they had climbed higher into the mountains and begun to pass networks of caves. Archer had heard of such a redoubt but had never seen it. Now, at a silent command from Jenah, the Anari began to file into one of the cave entrances. As he joined them, Archer saw that the cave was well-selected. It and its side chambers were easily large enough to give shelter to all, and it offered excellent sightlines over any approach.

  “Once,” Eiehsa said to Archer, “years ago, Gewindi-Tel came here to escape the slavers. When we returned, our village had been laid to waste. We never again fled our village, lest we deprive our heirs of their rich history. Long ago, we swore to the Ilduin that we would defend the Telnertah. Now, it seems, that oath must be broken.”

  Archer, who still held the unconscious Tess with her head on his shoulder, answered in heavy tones. “It may be that the time to preserve the temples has passed.”

  Eiehsa looked at him, her eyes unreadable, and finally nodded. “It may be that the temples have come to life.”

  Archer looked down at the woman he held, still unsure what he thought of her and what she had done. “That may be,” he agreed. “May the gods save us all.”

  “The gods,” said Eiehsa, with a mixture of bitterness and sarcasm, “are to blame for this all. Delude yourself not, Master Archer. ’Twas not simply the Enemy and his brother who brought the evil upon the world, nor the love and fury of the Ilduin. The gods themselves created such a power among men, then turned their backs and let that power take its own course. Once the Ilduin had made their awful choice, then the gods proclaimed their wrath and rent the world asunder, as if they could never have foreseen such an event. Mayhap it will be the Ilduin who save us from the gods, Lord Archer.”

  Archer looked sharply at her, trying to read the knowledge that lay behind her words, but could find nothing more than what she had said. Nor did she seem inclined to add to it. Instead she turned and began to tend to the children. A gust of wind blew down from the glacier that ever topped this mountain, driving a chill down inside his cloak. Archer at once shrugged it higher on his shoulders and wrapped more of it around Tess.

  His arms ached with the effort of holding her these many miles, yet he did not begrudge the ache. He begrudged no pain that life brought him, for penance and suffering were his adjudged lot. Nor did he feel sorry for himself. Atonement was his burden, and his alone. He walked to the entrance of the cave and looked out at the roiling black clouds. The Enemy sought them.

  With a shake of his head, he turned and began to look for a safe place to lay Tess. The cavern was cold and dank, but the Anari were already building a large central fire, and a natural chimney somewhere above sucked the smoke away, while drawing in fresh air from the cave’s mouth.

  Archer soon found Tom and Sara, a
nd was pleased to note that Tom seemed to be stirring. Ratha and Giri appeared as if from nowhere to help him lay Tess upon her spread-out bedroll. For an instant she appeared lifeless; then, to Archer’s vast relief, she rolled onto her side and curled up.

  “How is Tom?” he asked Sara.

  She looked up, her face much calmer now, and with perhaps even the hint of a smile. “He improves. He is dreaming, and from time to time he murmurs. His wounds appear healed.” But then she looked at Tess, and her face saddened. “But what it cost her!”

  “I think it cost you, as well,” Archer said, squatting down to take her chin in his hand and turn her face so he could better see it. “No Ilduin has ever called such force from the sky without the aid of her sisters. Whether you knew or not, she drew on your power at that moment.”

  Sara shook her head. “That is fine. What does it signify if I tire? Tom is alive.”

  Archer merely nodded, then rose, feeling suddenly very old and very tired. “Keep an eye on Tess, I pray you. I need to speak to the elders.”

  Then he strode away across the cavern floor toward the fire, where the Gewindi elders were gathering. Women all, they were the lifeblood of the clan, the keepers of knowledge and the arbiters of all problems.

  They warmly invited him to sit with them, making space near the comforting flames. For a while they spoke little, as if gathering their resources and thoughts. At a second fire nearby, the cooking had already begun, and the smells of food hung in the air.

  Eiehsa finally spoke, her voice deep with the knowledge of many years. “The prophesied times are upon us,” she announced.

  Five other heads bobbed in agreement.

  “For the first time in our lives, we have seen the true power of the Ilduin unleashed. This can mean but one thing.”

  “Ardebal,” one of the women said.

  “Yes,” Eiehsa agreed, seeming to stare into Archer’s soul. “Ardebal has awakened. And he stalks Gewindi-Tel.”

  It had been two generations of men since Archer had heard the Anari name for the Enemy. And something in the old woman’s face said she knew far more than any was meant to know.

  “Yes,” Archer said. “I believe he looks for Tess and Sara. Earlier on our journey, Lady Tess said that she felt what seemed like an oily presence trying to crawl into her mind. I had thought this was perhaps the hive mind of Lantav Glassidor, whom she slew in Lorense. But during that fray, and at times since, I have sensed the presence of the old Enemy. I think perhaps it was he who tried to crawl into the Lady’s mind, and he still who seeks to capture her.”

  “Well might that be,” Eiehsa said. “But you know more of this than you have said. You know far too much of the Enemy to be merely a passing mortal. Long are the legends of your life, Master Archer, even counted in the days of the Anari. It is not merely Ladies Tess and Sara whom the Enemy seeks. He seeks you, too, does he not?”

  Archer paused for a long moment, then finally nodded. “Yes, Mother. It may be that he does.”

  “And do you know why?” Eiehsa pressed. “It behooves us all to know exactly where we stand in this morass, lest we step onto what we think be firm rock and instead sink into a quicksand.”

  For long moments Archer stared into the leaping flames of the fire. Around his heart, an ancient carapace began to crack, and into the cracks seeped a pain nearly as old as the world. Along with the pain came a harsh certainty. He turned his head to look once again at Eiehsa.

  “I am,” he said, his words weighted as if with lead, “Annuvil.”

  “The elder brother,” Eiehsa said. “Beloved of Theriel, against whom Ardred made the war that ended the First Age.”

  “Aye, Mother,” Archer said. “It was my brother and I that destroyed the world.”

  “Nonsense,” the woman said. “Unless the old tales be twisted by the mists of time, it was your brother whose selfishness and jealousy led to the founding of Dederand. It was your brother who raised an army against the people of Samarand, and kidnapped and murdered Theriel on your wedding night. It was your brother who inflamed the rage of the Ilduin and brought down the rain of fire. Bear ye not the weight of his ill deeds, Lord Annuvil. It profits you nothing and costs you much.”

  “I bear only the weight of my own deeds,” Archer said. “But that weight enough is heavy for a soul. Offer me not the blessing prayer of Adis, for I cannot turn from who I am, or what I have done. But let us speak no more of this, I beseech you. The present times are dark enough without the darkness of the past laid also upon them.”

  Eiehsa and the other Anari closed their eyes in the same instant, and their lips began moving, mouthing words Archer could not discern. For a long moment it was as if every sound had been sucked from the cave; the fire itself seemed to stand still between them. Then, as one, their eyes opened.

  “The pain of Annuvil and the Ilduin stands among us,” Eiehsa said, rising, her voice carrying throughout the caves. “Born of the jealousy of Ardebal, simmered in his hate, seared by his rage. Good stood as evil threatened, yet the soot of the evil still blackened the sky.”

  All talk among the Anari had ceased; every eye in the cavern was upon the old woman, who spoke with a rolling resonance that seemed to draw strength from the rocks themselves.

  “Now,” she continued, “in the darkness, good stands once more, and once more the scent of black hate hangs in the air. Our people are enslaved, our Tel-mates murdered and our telner turned to ash. Silent were the Anari in the last days of the First Age, standing apart and claiming no side in the madness. But silent are we no more. If it be Ardebal whose evil darkens our lives, let it be Annuvil and the Ilduin whose goodness leads us into the light.”

  Try as he might to find words with which to interrupt, Archer could but sit and listen, knowing what was to come, knowing the awful price that would come with it. A part of his soul rebelled against the thought, for he wished to add no more death to the tally in his account. Yet he knew that could not be. Death had stalked him through the ages, and now it stood up behind him once more.

  Eiehsa’s voice rose to a crescendo. “Lord Archer, Lady Tess, Lady Sara, into your hands I deliver the heart and might of Gewindi-Tel. And, I dare say, the heart and might of all my people. We shall go to Anahar and there make firm our pledge to your service. For it is in your service that we shall find our delivery.”

  She bowed her head slightly, then extended her hands. “I beseech Elanor to grant us healing through these brave souls who have journeyed here to join us. And upon Keh-Bal, I swear to their service the fealty of Gewindi-Tel. Let any who dissent speak now, or be bound by my oath.”

  The silence in the cavern seemed to thunder in Archer’s ears. None spoke. None saved himself from what Archer knew was to come.

  “We are thine, Lord Archer,” Eiehsa said, offering her clasped hands. “Our wisdom, our dreams, our blood, we put into your hands. Honor us by accepting this oath.”

  Seconds seemed to drag into hours as Archer weighed his decision. To refuse the oath would be an act of unspeakable rudeness among the Anari. To accept it might well be their death sentence. He felt a presence and was astonished to see Tess conscious and at his side, with Sara, Giri and Ratha close behind. They too looked to him for guidance, and had throughout this long journey. It was as if the weight of all hope rested on his shoulders and his alone.

  Then a look passed between Tess and Sara, and Archer realized in that moment that he was assuming too much. They, too, as Ilduin, would bear the weight and worry of the Anari oath. And, he realized, they, too, had gifts to offer and a prize after which the Enemy lusted.

  Tess nodded silently.

  Archer turned and clasped Eiehsa’s hands. “I accept your oath, Mother. And I pray that I and my companions will be worthy of your service.”

  After a meal that was almost a feast, as if the Anari were celebrating having bound their fate to Archer, Eiehsa and the other clan mothers began to relate stories of the First Age.

  Archer slipped away to st
and guard at the cave mouth, perhaps because he couldn’t bear the recitation yet again of past horrors. Except, thought Tess as she settled in to listen, he had shared those tales himself, almost as if he felt a need to remind his listeners of the dangers of arrogance and jealousy.

  It amazed her, however, to realize that he was the Annuvil of the story he told, the elder brother who had won the love of Theriel, only to find himself caught up in a war, a widower almost before he was wed.

  She wished she might reach out to him in some way to ease a pain that must have ridden him hard these many years, but he had taken himself away somewhere. Besides, she doubted any words she might speak could heal a wound so old and deep.

  “The Firstborn,” Eiehsa said, her voice carrying to all ears that cared to listen, “were immortal, created by the gods to fill the world with beauty and song. But they were also created in the image of the gods, and with that came less than perfection, for the gods themselves are not perfect.”

  Immortal? Tess’s mind couldn’t seem to grasp the idea that Archer was immortal. In fact, thinking about it, she could only consider immortality to be a curse. The joys of life were ever so much sweeter when the days were numbered.

  But even the notion of immortality paled beside the prospect that the gods were imperfect and had made their creations with the same imperfections.

  She tucked that nugget away for later consideration, for she sensed that therein lay a very important bit of information.

  Important enough, perhaps, to save the Anari from their persecutors.

  The clan mothers began to sing together again, this time with a rhythm and melody that seemed to creep along the spine and seize the mind in a spell.

  Then Eiehsa flung a handful of sparkling sand upon the fire, and out of the flames a figure grew.