The Prophecy
After my aunt gives us leave, Paige leads me quickly away. Her arm’s threaded through mine as she pulls me through a pair of open, ornate doors and into a huge ballroom. Orchestral music swells around us, and I find myself quickly caught up in the grandeur of it.
We’re surrounded by well-to-do Gardnerians, some whirling on the dance floor. Many of the people we pass gasp at the sight of me, smile appreciatively and come forward to extend compliments to my “most excellent family.” Some Urisk servants in smart white tunics circulate with golden trays of small delicacies. Other Urisk serve food from a large table that holds a wide assortment of offerings set off beautifully by vases of red roses, everything richly lit by the multiple branched candelabras that grace the table.
Paige leads me through the crowd toward the food, then gives a start as she spots Fallon and her friends entering, surrounded by Fallon’s military guard. Paige hurriedly grabs two plates, throws some candied fruit on them both and pulls me into a dim corner, the two of us partially hidden by a gigantic potted fern.
“Is that Sylus next to Fallon?” I ask as Paige hands me a plate.
Paige’s brow goes tense as she nibbles at a sugared gooseberry. “Yes, that’s him.”
I shoot her a sympathetic glance as I take a bite of candied cherry. If Sylus Bane is anything like his sister, it’s the worst of luck for mild Paige to be fasted to him.
I glance around as Paige picks at the berries, her fingers quickly becoming sticky from the sugary fruit. My eyes widen in surprise as I catch sight of familiar faces.
“It’s... Sage Gaffney’s parents,” I murmur to Paige in astonishment. They’re in the broad hallway just off to the side of the ballroom, dressed in their usual high-necked, dour, conservative garb. Their expressions are solemn and pained, and they’re being hugged by a series of well-wishers, the peoples’ faces full of grave concern. I scour the room for other members of their family and find Sage’s oldest brother, Shane. He’s at the other end of the food tables, standing beside another potted fern, dressed in his soldier’s uniform and glowering at the crowd.
Paige places her hand on mine in caution. “Elloren, you can’t say her name. And you shouldn’t go to them. Something terrible has happened...”
“I know,” I tell her. “I know all about it. But I don’t understand. Why can’t I say her name?”
Paige swallows, her eyes flitting toward the Gaffneys fretfully. “She’s been Banished.”
“Banished?” I blanch, my mouth falling open. It’s a ritual cutting off. Like a funeral. Reserved for those whose actions are so heinous, their very existence is to be erased to restore honor and purity to their family. “But...my aunt told me they’re trying to help her.”
Paige glances over at Sage’s family, her expression mournful. “I guess she didn’t want to be helped.”
I remember how mad Sage was. Giving birth to an Icaral demon—it’s enough to drive anyone mad. An image fills my mind of Sage weaving me wreaths of ribbons and meadowlark flowers when I was a child. Of Sage letting me play with her little goats. And later, as teens, of Sage patiently teaching me how to embroider intricate designs. We’d sit under the broad oak tree that lies halfway between her estate and my cottage, quietly sewing Ironflowers along the hems of our garments. I always admired her for her quiet grace and artistic ways.
I set my plate down. “I’m going to speak to her brother.”
Paige fidgets. I can see she wants no part of this, that she’s scared by the Gaffneys’ proximity to a real-life nightmare, but she doesn’t stop me as I cross the ballroom to Shane’s side.
* * *
Shane’s hand is grasped around a crystal cup tightly as if he’s trying to decide whom to throw it at. He’s shorter than most of the young soldiers here, but compensates for it with the wiry, athletic build of a fighter—all lean muscle and angry, coiled energy.
“Shane,” I say carefully as I approach, looking around and keeping my voice low. “I heard about Sage.”
He grimaces sharply. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to say her name?” He gestures toward his family with his cup, a disgusted look on his face. “They might Banish you, too.”
I glance over at the Gaffneys, troubled. “What happened to her? Is she okay?”
His expression darkens with worry and he shakes his head. “I don’t know, Elloren. I don’t know where she is. No one knows. And my younger sisters have run off with her.”
My breath catches tight. Her sisters, too! I remember the surreal sight of Sage heading into the wilderness and feel a sharp spike of guilt. Oh, Ancient One, I should have said something...
He shakes his head again in disbelief. “They sent the entire Fifth Division out after them. But they couldn’t find them. It’s like they all disappeared into thin air.”
The Fifth Division is made up of the best Gardnerian trackers. It’s impossible to hide from them. They gained notoriety during the Realm War, ferreting out secret enemy bases, locating hidden groups of dangerous Fae. It’s rumored that the best of them can read a week-old trail left behind in the woods. I know all this because they’ve been actively recruiting my brother, Rafe, for a few years now.
“Isn’t that your division?” I ask. “Why aren’t you out with them?” Shane’s a tracker. And a talented one at that. Just like Rafe.
Shane’s face twists into a mask of bitterness. “Well, Elloren, it seems they thought I lacked the necessary level of detachment needed to kill my own sister.”
My face blanches. “Kill her?”
Shane’s expression turns pained. “She didn’t just give birth to an Icaral, Elloren. They believe she’s given birth to the Icaral.”
I’m frozen into stunned silence.
We all know of the Prophecy, set down by the late Atellian Lumyn, one of the greatest Seers our church has ever known.
A Great Winged One will soon arise and cast his fearsome shadow upon the land. And just as Night slays Day, and Day slays Night, so also shall another Black Witch rise to meet him, her powers vast beyond imagining. And as their powers clash upon the field of battle, the heavens shall open, the mountains tremble and the waters run crimson...and their fates shall determine the future of all Erthia.
Lumyn was considered to be a prophet, his writings read by all pious Gardnerians and second only to our holy scripture, The Book of the Ancients. He died when I was a child living in Valgard, and I still remember the crowded streets on the day of his funeral, the communal outpouring of grief.
Mage Lumyn accurately predicted the rise of my grandmother to power and her battle with an Icaral demon. He set down his final Prophecy soon after my grandmother’s death and the end of the Realm War, and it sent waves of shock barreling through Gardneria. My people thought the Icaral demons were defeated. That they were finally safe from the Icarals’ terrible fire and winged darkness. But now an even greater demonic threat loomed on the horizon.
“The time is here,” Shane rasps in a harsh whisper. “The Church Seers have confirmed it. And not just them. The Seers of other races, too. They’ve all read the same message—the Icaral of Prophecy is here. A male, possessed of his wings and full powers. Every other male Icaral has been captured and stripped of its wings. Don’t you see, Elloren? It has to be my sister’s baby.”
“No.” I shake my head, desperate to refute this. It’s too awfully bizarre. How could kind, thoughtful Sage give birth to the demon of Prophecy? “It can’t be...”
But I know from his expression that it can.
Shane looks down at his punch glass, barely able to contain his misery. “Did you know he beat her?”
“Who?”
“Who do you think? Tobias. Quite the temper that one has.” He looks around at the crowd, anguish breaking through. “You know, she did everything they ever wanted her to do. All of them. He started in on her soon after she got to University. That’s why she ran off with that Kelt.” Now he’s grasping his glass so hard I fear it might shatter. “He took advantage of her,” Shane grinds out, fury swimming in his eyes. “Isn’t that just like a Kelt? He used my sister, forced his filthy self on her and now...” He breaks off, his eyes glazing over with angry tears.
I reach out for him, but he flinches away from me.
“Shane, it can’t be,” I press, undaunted. “The Prophecy isn’t just about an Icaral. There has to be a Black Witch, too, and there isn’t anyone with that level of power...”
Shane shoots me a look of wild incredulity. “Of course there is. Or there will be.” He glances pointedly across the room at the Banes.
My throat tightens. Fallon Bane. The next Black Witch. Sent to kill the demon baby of Sage Gaffney. It’s the stuff of nightmares.
I turn back to Shane, my voice weak. “Do you really think Fallon Bane could become that powerful?”
“Yes, at the rate her power’s growing.” Shane’s face closes down, his voice going hard, devoid of all hope. “There’s nothing that can be done about it, Elloren. It’s all over for my sister. Go back to your family. This isn’t your affair.”
I look toward Fallon.
She pulls out her wand and mock points it at a thin military apprentice. He freezes, and the others in her party grow silent and tense.
This isn’t allowed. Apprentices are forbidden from pulling wands on each other.
I’m stunned. There are officers dotting the entire ballroom and, again, no one rebukes Fallon for a flagrant violation of the rules.
Fallon laughs and resheathes her wand, diffusing the tension, the onlookers breaking out into nervous laughter. The young apprentice gives them all a thin, frightened smile before slinking away.
Fallon watches him leave, then fixes her eyes on me. Her smile is slow and deliberate, her message unmistakable.
Careful, Elloren Gardner. That could easily be you.