Book TWO: Retribution
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Chapter Two: Prophesies
High above head, an auburn sky lit the way with picturesque mountains laying out on the horizon before them. At the base of these mountains, which lay in the southern desert of Sarento, was a tribe which worshiped a prophet they had named Seka.
The journey thus far had been uneventful and was nothing more than a tedious drudge through endless sand dunes. The duo welcomed the sight of something other than sand as the craggy dark gray mountains grew bigger and bigger.
As the map predicted, there was a small settlement comprising of a dozen or so large cream colored tents surrounded by humongous poles made of thick wood dug deep into the ground. Each wooden totem was around twenty inches in width and four meters high. Leon and Joel stopped at the border of these poles, now more cautious and aware of people watching them from corners and mounds. A middle aged well tanned Sarentian male in cloth shorts and torn shirt approached the duo with two younger companions to his sides. They stopped on the opposite end of the wooden poles and looked them over from top to bottom.
They were definitely Sarentians; the red iris in their eyes confirmed that. They also seemed to live quite poorly when compared to the towns or larger settlements. Their clothes were torn and tattered and the cloth making up their tents seemed strained and was showing age. Joel could see no reason for the lower type of life style he saw before them, as they were not a tremendous distance away from some settlements to the west that were sure to be of higher standards.
“Crusimo ne soless?” one of the Sarentians asked in their native tongue.
“Jelos vevek Leon Sansec, hes vevek Joel Dawson. Lospe ent ret treme, Seka,” Leon replied in the same language.
The trio of Sarentians turned their backs and spoke quietly. Leon listened intently as best he could while Joel stood silent, dumbfounded by the words he did not understand. Reluctantly, he leaned over to his friend and asked what they were doing. At first Leon had no answer, but as he went to explain the Sarentians spoke again at great length with him as many words were exchanged. At last the verbal communication ceased and the trio returned to the tents within the encampment.
“So...what did they say?” Joel asked again.
“They are suspicious of why we would want to speak to their prophet; they seem to treat her like a chieftain or leader rather than as some kind of god. They refuse us audience unless we complete a ceremonial task that all their young must take part in when they turn eighteen before trekking into the mountains,” Leon explained.
“And what is this task?”
“As far as I can tell it is a crude form of pillars.”
Pillars was a popular game throughout the whole of Sarento. It was considered both a hobby and competitive sport (in its tamer versions) and also lethal in tournaments held in the capital city. The basic premise of the game was that two combatants would be hoisted up atop a pillar of some kind (be it stone or wood and so on) with their opponent opposite them on a similar pillar. In its most basic form, the form allowed in all towns and cities and where anyone could take part, they simply added some form of connection between the pillars and then the match would begin. The combatants would fight until one of them was pushed from the pillar onto the ground, the one who stayed atop the pillars would be the winner. Sometimes it was best out of three depending on individual town’s rules. Different towns and cities tended to have slightly different rules depending on their people's taste but the main premise was always the same.
Then there was the version of pillars played as a major sport. This was strictly for registered combatants who entered knowing the risks. These Pillar matches would be played within Sarentian made arenas suspended high in the air with no floor and riddled with various platforms on different levels. This made matches longer and more skill based rather than strength, but also fatal for the loser if the drop was high enough. These more dangerous matches would be watched by spectators and by avid fans alike to cheer on their favorite combatant and bet on their chances. Joel had always wanted to take part in that type of pillars match.
“Could be fun, but why don’t we just go into the mountains? If it really is Seka then surely we could just sense her?” Joel questioned.
“If this prophet is Seka she would surely know how to conceal her Aura as we do, plus the mountains before us span for many kilometers south. Each second of our time spent here puts more distance between us and Tylor. It is better that we are led straight to her by one of these people.”
Reluctantly, Joel agreed with his friend's plan and they both entered the camp.
They met with the same Sarentians that had greeted them when they arrived who then conversed with Leon once again. Joel tried to follow as best as he could. There was an occasional finger pointed upwards, once towards the strange wood poles around the camp and then to the mountain peaks to the south. The conversation then seemed to turn into something solely about the wooden pillars. It was then that Joel realized that those were the tools most likely used for the ceremonial rights of passage for the ritual. Leon bowed to the Sarentian, who broke off and entered a nearby tent.
“A ladder is placed at two of these pillars directly opposite one another then a wooden board is placed between them to form a walk way. We both have to do the ceremony just as the tribe would, so listen closely. This is a right of passage for the eighteen year olds; they must prove their resolve to see the prophet against the tribe’s most powerful warrior. The one wanting to prove themselves climb up onto their pillar and then has their hands bound behind their back. They must then knock the opponent off the pillar to show strength through adversity and handicap. Only then are they considered proven,” Leon explained.
“They seem to have glorified a kingdom’s sport a tad, haven’t they?” Joel asked sarcastically.
“It is more likely that the sport version was based off these ceremonies originally,” Leon retorted.
Two ladders were carried from a tent and taken to two opposing wooden pillars. Slowly they were propped up and checked for sturdiness. Another Sarentian carried tattered thick rope with which to bind the challenger’s hands. A crowd had begun to form as people of all ages gathered around the two pillars. A suitable space of around three meters in all directions was made so that there was no danger to the tribe members watching when one of the combatants was shoved off onto the ground.
A cheer rose from the crowd of tribe’s people as a tall Sarentian emerged from a tent decorated with strange runes and markings. He wore leather armor over his chest with straps shaped like a cross over it and was clad in leather shin and knee guards. Another Sarentian wrapped in a brown cloak presented the tall one with a thick wooden club. Joel watched as the tall Sarentian passed him (grunting at him as he went) and proceeded to climb the pillar which he had decided was his.
“…That club…he’s going to…?” Joel questioned, trailing off as he saw Leon nod.
Joel slowly climbed his ladder with the Sarentian cradling rope following close behind. Once he had reached the top of the pillar the ropes were fastened behind his back, binding his hands in place. The Sarentian who did the tying then climbed back down the ladder and pulled it away from the wooden pillar. Joel tugged at the old ropes and smirked to himself. If he wanted to, he could easily snap them with just a gentle movement of his wrists.
The wooden plank placed between the two pillars used for the event seemed to slide into naturally formed holes in the pillars which held it tight so that it would not sway or fall off too easily. Although not all the rules were clear to him, Joel saw no reason why he could not just smash the plank and drop the opponent to the ground that way.
An elderly Sarentian started a low chant in his native language as he raised his hands towards Joel and his opponent and beckoned the crowd to join in. Even with all of them chanting at once it was still very low sounding and deep. The large Sarentian began swinging his club from side-to-side causing the chanting to get louder and louder.
“Joel!” Leon called up to him, “Remember; they do not see a powerful warrior before them they see a young man of medium build. Do not raise their suspicions! You need only last against him for a reasonable amount of time. You do not need to defeat him for us to be granted passage to the prophet.”
An angry curse was the response Joel gave. He saw no reason to hide his powers from the tribe. They had no contact with the knights of the kingdom and it was likely none of them even traveled beyond the outskirts of their own camp. He was growing tired of having to hide what he was. He saw the Destined power as a gift. It was supposed to be used to protect the people of Pesmega, so why should they hide it from them? The answer Leon gave was always the same; they could not be confused for Tylor else they would be hunted. The main problem was so few people now knew of the Destined legacy after most of the Katerano churches in the Four Kingdoms were hunted down and destroyed by Kain’s spies. If only they all knew, then they would get the help they needed to save Tylor and then to recapture Atra.
Joel’s attention was abruptly snapped back to reality as a lumpy club missed the side of his head by mere inches. The large Sarentian had calmly walked the length the plank from his pillar to Joel’s and taken a swipe at him while he was lost in thought. To counter, Joel kicked with one of his feet, being careful not to lose balance. His opponent took a few steps backwards and allowed Joel to advance.
From the crowd, Leon watched with a worried look. At first he thought Joel had fallen asleep, but luckily he snapped back to attention just in time to dodge the first attack. Now he was more concerned that Joel would let his anger take over and would allow some of his powers to surface to win the ceremony with ease. Perhaps he should have explained in greater detail that he did not have to win for them to see the prophet.
Since they had not gone through the intense training the tribe people did in preparation for the ceremony, they were granted some leeway. It was unknown to them the amount of skill they were capable of, but the former Demon Hunter saw no need to enlighten them on that matter. The Sarentian Joel fought had also been told to soften his attacks because they were not members of the tribe.
It was too late now. The preemptive attack from the large Sarentian had spurred Joel’s anger. The anger had been building for years, continuing to get worse and worse. Leon had watched it emerge from battle to battle. Joel’s skill would lower as he gave into his negative thoughts and even though the young fighter believed the Destined power relied on emotions such as anger, to date it had done nothing but make him weaker. Joel had not only become angrier over the years, but he had also become quite arrogant about his strength.
It was what Joel had always wanted; to be strong. Now that he had the Destined power it made him feel invincible. Trying to quell the arrogance was another reason Leon tried to teach him the ways of Demon Hunters, but that also failed. Joel had not grown up. His body’s appearance made him look about eighteen or nineteen, perhaps a bit older, despite the fact he was closer to thirty. His young body helped preserve a young mind, so the power made him like a boy with a toy.
Joel leaped backwards onto one foot as he dodged another swipe from the Sarentian. As he struck again, Joel kicked off his foot and smashed the club with his other leg. It broke apart immediately as if it had just been thrown against a huge rock, sending splinters and chunks of wood in all directions. Before giving the tall Sarentian time to recover Joel stepped forwards and kicked him square in the center of the chest with the bottom of one of his leather boots. The Sarentian flew backwards right off the end of his pillar and onto the sand some meters below.
With a satisfied grin, Joel leaped to the ground from the center of the plank of wood connecting the pillars and landed smoothly, before gently tugging at the ropes binding his hands, snapping them instantly.
Joel muttered to himself, “...Weak.”
He slowly walked towards Leon, who was amongst the crowd. As he did the people of the tribe began to cheer a sentence over and over in Sarentian. Once he reached his friend he asked what it was that they were saying.
“...Hail the powerful warrior,” Leon replied reluctantly.
Joel continued to smile to himself.
High atop a calm rocky mountain, to the south of the Endless Desert, in a small alcove, a house was built. In this house was Seka, the prophet, she who could see the future. She was an old Sarentian woman, hunched up at a table at which she knelt, sipping from a small round glass of tea. She slowly stirred as she heard the entrance to her home creak open.
“Good evening, Xavier,” she said slowly.
The man who entered bowed as he reached her.
“It’s been a long time, Esmeleda…or is it Seka now?” the man asked.
“The nearby tribe calls me by that name. I did not see it as my place to interfere with their customs, so I do what they ask of me and provide readings for their young warriors. They are not to know the implications of such a name.”
“You have become a fortune teller to this tribe, then? This is the life you wanted when you cast away your immortality?” the man replied.
Esmeleda smiled into her tea and beckoned her dear friend Xavier to sit with her. He complied and gladly accepted a cup of the brew that she drank. He wore the garments he had worn the last time they had met, many years ago. It was fine silk crafted by master seamstresses from their homeland, one half a deep black, the other a soft white. It was a symbolic representation to the balance their people believed in.
“Though I wish your visit was simply to catch up on old times, I feel that you are here for something else,” she said slowly. “Would I be correct to assume it is to do with the two young warriors that are on the way to see me this very day?”
“You would indeed be correct,” Xavier replied with a smile, but then he paused. “…Forgive my unwavering gaze, Esmeleda. I am not used to seeing you like this. I still remember the youthful features that once graced your face…the face that bid me farewell all those years ago.”
“Now is not the time to discuss this, Xavier. Speak with haste before my visitors arrive!”
“…Very well,” he said after a pause. “The council set me the task of observing these two so that we might learn more about the Destined and what they intend to do about Kain. I have been following them for years, watching their every move. Now I must ask for your help in completing my mission. They must be tested, separately, so that the council will agree with my verdict.”
The council was the governing body of their homeland. Long ago it was decided that they would stop interfering with the mortal world and instead simply watch over it to ensure the balance between dark and light remained unchanged by their actions. Ever since Yggdrasil’s appearance many hundreds of years ago however, the question was raised as to whether they should intervene to help stop him.
After much debate the council decreed that the people of Pesmega had no choice but to protect themselves from the evil demon. Eventually, Yggdrasil was defeated in a horrible bloody battle (with the help of Kain and Seka). Now Kain wanted what was once his master’s; the free world. Seka’s ambitions were unclear to Esmeleda however, perhaps she truly wanted to protect Pesmega once more or maybe she just wanted it for herself.
Either way, the rivalry between the two siblings over their late master’s status had raged on for far too long. Kain had gone too far in attacking L’Carn and Atra. If the council really were wishing to test the Destined that were on their way to meet with her, then things must have become very dangerous.
“Then it is true what I have feared,” Esmeleda sighed. “We have lost the power we once had as a people, have we not? Now you must seek help from those created from the very evil that you wish to control?”
“Not control, contain. We are not as arrogant as Kain,” Xavier retorted. “These Destined, although created by Seka – whose motives are still a mystery, may be the only ones strong enough to help defend this kingdom from the impending invasion. The balance must be restored, Esmeleda.”
“Kain shall not move till the son of the devil is dead,” she replied. “It is the reason he has not attacked after these fifteen calm years following the fall of Atra, I would guess. He knows the dark power that youth possesses and fears it.”
“Have you no longer got the ability to see the path, Esmeleda? Since you are known as a fortune teller I must assume you still do. You must know as I do; Aseroth is not long for this world.”
“Very well, tell me what you wish me to do when they get here. I shall assist you as best I can,” Esmeleda said. “I just pray that you do not put too much faith in these two fragile men, Xavier.”
Lazily, Joel scuffed his feet along the rocky path below him and kicked some rocks further up the road. He and Leon had been walking for a few hours now and it was now almost pitch black. They had left the Sarentian tribe with a rough idea of how to find the prophet. If the directions were accurate they had to be close now and an almost flat formation of gray scale rock ahead of them suggested something had been built into the side of the cliff face.
Rubbing his hand, Joel looked at the mark that had been drawn upon it after successfully completely the ritual back at the tribe’s camp. This was to show they had completed their challenge and were allowed to speak with the prophet. Leon had a similar mark painted upon the top of his right hand after he completed his pillars match as well. It looked like a circle with three runes, or characters, placed around its edges. Joel was not sure what it was painted with, but it made his hand tingle and feel warm.
After climbing a few more steep steps over rock and rubble, the duo reached a flat wall in a hallowed out area of one of the cliff faces. A simple wooden door sat in the middle of the flattened out area plain in design and finish with no markings at all. Leon stepped forwards first and reached for the door handle when Joel stopped him and asked for his attention.
“I was sure I saw someone, look,” Joel said, pointing to a high peak across a large pit to their right.
Nothing stirred in the night sky as the two gazed out into the darkness. Then, in the distance, an animal called out contently and then everything fell silent once more.
“Well there is no one there now. Come, let us meet this prophet,” Leon replied.
Pausing, Joel took one last long look at the top of the cliff he had seen a figure on. He was sure someone was there, watching them as they approached the door. He had felt the hairs on his neck tingle and had a deep sensation that they were being watched. He would not normally be so disturbed by such an event and would put it down to a trick of the light (or lack thereof) but he was certain he had seen the figure before. Reluctantly, he turned and watched as Leon rapped his knuckle on the door and listened closely for some form of response.
“You may enter,” a haggard female voice called.
The air inside the door was heavy with the smell of burning incense. A thin layer of smoke seemed to be permanently present, swaying and blowing all around the large hallowed out cave. Various colors of silk scarfs draped down from the roof formed a box round the door and hid the other areas of the cave from view at first. A few gold and red flowered carpets were underfoot, strewn across the cold stone.
Leon reached forward and pulled back one of the silk drapes to reveal the rest of the room. Figurines, statues and various paintings lined the wall but rock was still visible in some places. More silk had been strewn around to cover the cold gray. Candles lined both sides of the room but were low in light. A woman sat at a small table sipping from a cup of something.
On her left side sat a burning incense stick propped up on a black stone platform which seemed to glow purple from some unnatural source. The woman was wrapped in silk of very fine quality which concealed most of her body, aside from her face. She had tired eyes with large bags under them, snow white hair and a gentle smile across her mouth as she drunk. She scanned the two of them with her eyes and lowered her cup before telling them to walk forwards in her weak sounding voice.
“Congratulations on passing the initiation ceremony,” she said with a gentle clap of her hands, “I certainly hope you did not hurt them too much.”
The former Demon Hunter started to speak, but Joel abruptly interrupted.
“Are you Seka? The one who created the Destined?” he questioned.
The woman’s body moved up and down in time with her chuckling. Joel’s face flushed red as he backed away and turned his back on her. He turned slightly to Leon and complained at her reaction.
“This is a waste of our time,” he angrily insisted, still red faced.
After a moment of silence, a small smile grazed Leon’s face. It had been a long time since he had seen Joel react in such a way to someone. But then, it had been a long time since someone had laughed in his face and was still conscious seconds later as well.
“Forgive me, my lad,” the woman said, “I did not mean to hurt your feelings.”
“I am not a lad...and you did no such thing,” Joel said, regaining his composure. “Now tell us; are you the same Seka that created the original Destined?”
“No, I am not that Seka. I do know of her though. Won’t you sit with me and enjoy some tea while I tell you? Then I will complete your initiation rituals as the tribe wants by giving you each a glimpse at that which you cannot see even with your power; the path before you.”
Joel gently grabbed Leon’s shoulder and turned him so they both did not face the woman. Slowly moving his head towards his, he whispered that he believed the woman was not of fit mind and that they should leave.
“You doubt my integrity?” asked the woman loudly enough to get their attention, as her haggard voice become energized. “Sit and I shall prove you wrong.”
The prophet began reciting a story the two had first heard many years before. It was off the Times of Yggdrasil. This was the name given to the period many hundreds of years ago when a violent demon was born that sought about enslaving the entire population of Pesmega. He met little resistance and soon had most of the world doing his bidding. Helping the beast achieve his goal were two beings of great power he created named Kain and Seka, whom he made generals of his army. At the height of Yggdrasil’s rule, Seka and Kain rebelled against their creator and wished to kill him.
During a siege on Yggdrasil’s most powerful fortress the two former generals, with the help of rebelling soldiers and Pesmega’s enslaved people, overthrew the demon. Yggdrasil was slain, as was his offspring who had been condemned to a crystal tomb by his father as his power was too fierce.
After Yggdrasil’s death a feud arose between Kain and Seka as they both wanted their former master’s throne, but by then the people of Pesmega numbered too many and opposed too much. Kain fled far west into the dark region of the world where Yggdrasil created his evil army and made his own. He then began a cleansing of the world to one day rule it. It was during this time that Seka used the last of her power to create the Destined, destroying her physical body in the process, and in retaliation Kain created the Sect.
“Is Seka alive, in one form or another?” Leon asked. “She has not spoken to us in so long that we had begun to lose hope.”
“Yes, she is. Though her physical body perished, her spirit lives on. It is that which has always communicated with you. There is a reason that she has been unable to contact you for so long; she fears your former friend.”
Joel stirred from his quiet state and abruptly asked if the prophet spoke of Tylor. She nodded in response to his question.
“He is searching…” she said after a pause, “As he has been, all these years. He is searching for the place Seka’s spirit is stored. It is a temple. This temple holds the last lingering thread of Seka’s being and it is that which allows her to speak with you in your dreams and continue to exist. If she were to impose her power now, your friend would sense her location and hunt her down. She has no choice but to remain silent. However, I believe she may soon have no choice but to contact you...he is getting closer.”
“So his path was not as random as we thought!” Leon exclaimed with astonishment.
His friend huffed in response, seemingly skeptical of the prophet’s words. The old woman smiled gently at him again before taking another slow sip at her cup and laughing to herself once more.
“You believe I am lying. You cannot say why I would want to or what possible motive I would have, but you still believe it. Do you know why?” she asked Joel. “We each have our own ways of dealing with loss, denial is but one.”
“What are you saying old woman?!” Joel shouted, standing to his feet.
She looked to the ground and mumbled something again while shaking her head. Looking back up to them both, she told them that there would soon come a time when they would discover what happened to Tylor Sabre. Joel began walking to the door silently. Leon called him, but he did not respond.
“I cannot tell you what you want to hear, I am afraid. I can only say what it is that I can see on the path ahead,” the prophet called to him.
“Then tell me this...if you can see the future...” Joel whispered. “...Will Tylor die?”
“Yes, if he is not already dead that is,” she responded.
“I will not believe it…I will not! He will not die! We will save him!” Joel shouted.
And with that, Joel left. Slamming the old wooden door behind him, he left Leon and the old woman alone. He began to apologize, but she stopped him and reiterated that denial was but one form of grief.
He sighed long and hard as he accepted a cup of warm liquid. Sipping it down it felt smooth and sweet, like a fine tea of Atra he had once tried many years before. As he looked deep into his simple glass he realized how badly Joel missed Tylor. They had been like brothers. If Tylor had died then he could morn and move on, but he had become something dark, something evil. It just made it hurt more. Deep down he felt the same; he missed Tylor and Karen and all those lost in the war. Perhaps the form of grief he was lost in was depression.
“Thank you for the tea, Seka,” he said at last, “however, I best go after my friend.”
“Please, call me Esmeleda,” she smiled. “That is my real name.”
“Very well, Esmeleda. Fair well,” Leon said, standing up and brushing himself down in the process. “Thank you for sharing your wisdom with us.”
“Do not despair, young king,” she called to him as he left. “The answers you desperately want will come to you soon. Though I can only tell you the result of one possible path you could take, listen well. There will come a time soon when you will be separated from Joel, this is unavoidable. When it happens to you, do not despair and do what you must. You must learn to be a leader, to lead your people as your father did before you.”
Outside, Leon slowly closed the door behind him. As he turned to face the path back down to the Sarentian camp, he felt the cold brisk air of the night brush off him. The last words of the prophet had stirred his memories.
Young king, he thought to himself. She knew. I cannot doubt what she has said; it must indeed be pictures of the future…
Leon Sansec was the last living Atraian with royal blood coursing through him. He was the secret son of Leonard Nega, murdered by the Sect assassin Tai who also killed the queen and prince. He had no real memory of his birth mother; it was not Leonard’s wife, rather a servant in his service.
The only living people who still knew this dark secret were Tylor and Joel, there was no way the prophet could have known unless she had some kind of sixth sense. This left him unsettled. If she was able to tell such a thing then all she said must have been accurate. But the future was not a certainty, at least not in his eyes. It was not a written book and they were not simply actors performing a play, conscious thought factored into it and choice. Judging by her last words, perhaps all Esmeleda saw was a half finished painting of the future, a painting the artist was still working on and could change with one simple stroke of a brush.
Shaking off such thoughts for now, Leon noticed Joel sitting on a cliff edge with his feet hanging over the precipice. Without a word, he slowly walked over and sat down next to him. His young friend was playing with small rocks in one hand he had picked up from the ground around them. He crushed them to dust then threw them down into the pit before them, watching as the wind caught them and made them dance in swirls and spirals until they were out of sight.
“...I will not believe what she said, Leon,” Joel said at last. “We will find a way to get Tylor back… I don’t know how, but we will…”
“She knew that I was the son of the King of Atra. I believe she has some form of sight we cannot hope to understand.”
“That is the past!” Joel interrupted sharply. “The past is black and white, it is done and written and if it’s written it can be read. It’s not the future.”
He may have had a point, but the words of the prophet could not be ignored. One thing in particular was worrying Leon, even more so than acknowledging that she knew he was heir to a throne or what she had said about Tylor.
Esmeleda made note that Tylor may already be dead, so she could only be talking about his normal conscious thought, like it had been squashed or hidden away by the dark power now controlling him.
Leon was very concerned that the prophet said that he and Joel would become separated and although she told him not to despair, the fact she implied it was unavoidable made him most unsettled. He could not think of any good reason why he would part ways with his companion. They had spent the better part of fifteen years together already without every splitting up.
Perhaps it was because their goals were set to change. Up until now they had the same ambitions, the same plan. Top of the list was to help Tylor, which was a certainty between them both. But also on that list was, of course, the path set out for them by Seka. They had to defeat Kain. They had talked about it and knew it was an inevitability that they would face Kain, but Leon had other goals as well. It pained him to run from his kingdom at the end of the battles of Atra and it pained him that he could do nothing to help it. His people had fled into Sarento. Those who did not remained in bondage at the hands of Kain’s minions, helping build their siege equipment and other weapons of war. Together he and Joel were strong, but they could not defeat an army alone.
Standing up, Leon instructed Joel that they should start back towards the camp where they had left their belongings. Without a word, Joel rose and joined him as they started off back down the cold mountain path. With the sun fully set only the frosty mountain air remained, and it chilled to the bone.
“…She said something else to me,” Leon stated, breaking the new silence between them. “Her name is Esmeleda, not Seka…and she told me that we would become separated and that when it happens that we should not despair as it is unavoidable.”
“I told you already that I believe nothing she said, Leon,” Joel replied. “We have no reason to part, so why would we? We are chasing Tylor together.”
His words did not fill Leon with the confidence that they once might have.
Esmeleda cleared her throat before calling Xavier’s name. Slowly, the door to her home creaked open once again and the man entered. He closed the door behind him before taking up a sitting position in front of his old friend.
“You did it then?” he asked.
She nodded in reply.
“The seed of doubt is in the young king’s mind, but the other refuses to believe me. He does not want his friend to die.”
Xavier placed his hands and fingers together in a meditative like state and closed his eyes. He began breathing slowly and deeply as if lost in a trance. Esmeleda watched on silently while pouring more tea.
“…It is unclear… strange,” Xavier mumbled. “The future is not so easily read any longer, too many things are happening. It has upset the balance between all things and clouded our visions. It should not matter however, come morning I shall part them.”
The council’s plan still disturbed Esmeleda. They were putting faith in mortals, it was the first time they had ever done anything so risky. Men were weak and unpredictable, the weakest of all races in many respects. They succumbed to greed and lust for power.
Freewill was the cause; the ability to say yes or no. There was once a time when all her race could see the future, but they found that when they compared each others visions each would be slightly different. A no in one vision would be a yes in another. A coin flip of heads in one would be tails in another, leading to different scenarios. The things they saw were never written in stone to a certain extent. Though it was the future they saw, it was but one possibility of an infinite number.
No matter how hard the council tried they could not find one true seer amongst them who could always predict the correct future all the time. Over the years the reason for this changed over and over until eventually it was decided that her people had grown weak minded. Though it was true the ability to see the future at all was growing weaker and weaker, Esmeleda could not help but believe they had wished it upon themselves.
“I believe the saying is true,” she smiled to herself, “I appear to have become wiser in my old age. Perhaps that is the fault of our race. You know as well as I do that we can never see the full picture. You know this, as does the council. Yet we blame everything except what is really to blame. We cannot predict accurately because of freewill.”
“Esmeleda…” Xavier said softly. “It is such words that angered the council and cursed you to this…this existence…”
“I welcomed it, Xavier!” she replied. “I wished to live as one of them. I wished to experience this freewill. I choose to sip this tea and I am sure one of them up there foresaw this, but just as correctly there will be one who saw me put down the cup and not drink a single sip. Our people do not have freewill any longer and that is why we are so easily read. Even you; I can read your future as if it was a sunny road on a clear day, yet when I look at that young king I see fog and confusion with distorted pictures of what might be.”
“I am sorry, Esmeleda,” he said as he stood up. “I cannot believe that these people somehow stop our power with nothing more than choice. I believe in the council and their judgment. They will find a way to restore our power to its former glory so that we can stop things such as this war from ever becoming anything more than a skirmish!”
And with that Xavier bid her farewell and headed for the door. As he walked he held his head low, she could see it even though she still sat on the ground. A battle of words occurred a lot when they had spent time together in their homeland. They would argue over this and that. Then one day she argued against the council, against the leaders of their home. Her punishment, as they called it, was to be exiled to Pesmega and to have her immortality stripped.
“Xavier,” she called to him. “Let us compare visions one last time. Have you foreseen, as I have, the fate of Joel Dawson? I speak of the events that will unfold should he become separated from the young king.”
“…Yes, I have seen the torment he will go through…but he will live through it, he and the girl will. It must be done this way, Esmeleda. That is the test the council wishes him to undertake and no other options will satisfy them.”
“…I see,” she answered slowly. “I also saw the torture and the torment. I pray that your vision is the more accurate than mine, as I foresee that he will die in agony as a result of what you are going to do. Please keep that in mind tomorrow when you prepare to split them up and...” she stopped and sighed loudly. “…You are an open book to me and I know what you will do when the time comes.”
“I must carry out the council’s wishes,” he replied.
“Then on your head be it, Xavier.”
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