The Seer (5 page)

A tense
silence fell, broken by the front door violently banging open.  In a flash
they were all on their feet with their daggers drawn only to see Prospero
standing in the doorway with a large stoat hanging lifelessly from his
jaws.  He padded silently over to Mistral and sat expectantly at her feet,
his tail sweeping the floor in long strokes.

‘Good boy.’
 Mistral patted his head distractedly.

‘That’s
revolting,’ said Phantom faintly.

Phantasm
regarded the dog for a moment, ‘That’s nothing.  He brought a skunk in
yesterday.’

Ignoring the
crunching sounds of Prospero making short work of his catch, Phantom began to
pace the room again with an agitated expression on his face, ‘We’re not
properly prepared!  We haven’t had time to perfect a code yet!’

Fabian raised
an eyebrow questioningly and Mistral rolled her eyes, ‘He’s been going on about
this for days.  I can hear them, but they can’t hear me and I need to let
them know who to influence without speaking.’

Fabian nodded,
‘I see your problem.  The Ri’s code would allow you to communicate
silently; unfortunately its use is out of the question since Malachi would
instantly recognise it.’

‘Now you see
the problem.’  Mistral sighed.  ‘Although today shouldn’t be too much
of an issue as I’m only being asked to read Malachi and Bellicose … if I can
... but we still need to communicate silently for future work or our gifts are
pretty pointless!’

‘Well,’ Fabian
began slowly, ‘a simple solution would be to reverse the code –’

Phantasm
stopped pacing and turned to stare at Fabian, ‘Brilliant!  That’s just
absolutely ...
brilliant
!’

Mistral smiled
proudly, ‘Of course it is.  Fabian thought of it.’

The twins
shared a weary look.  ‘Then we have our answer.’  Phantasm announced,
suddenly business-like again.  ‘Now, forgive me, but we must be ready to
leave soon.  Mage De Winter?’

Fabian looked
at Phantasm, his expressional politely enquiring.

‘There’s
plenty of hot water and a set of new clothes ready for you in the bathroom.’

A short
silence fell while Fabian stared speechlessly at Phantasm.  Mistral fought
down a laugh.  Her husband, the inimitable assassin, erudite and composed
in any situation, had been completely thrown by Phantasm’s obsession with
dressing people. 

‘Come on, I’ll
help you,’ she said, leaping to her feet and holding out her hand to Fabian.

Phantasm
strode over to take hold of her hand and pull her away, ‘I am quite sure that
Mage De Winter has no need of assistance Mistral!’

‘Probably not,
but I’m sure he’d like some.’  Mistral said wistfully, watching her
husband disappear up the stairs.

‘I’m sure he
would, but focus please Mistral!  We’re going to a funeral!’

‘Don’t remind
me!’  Mistral said with a roll of her eyes.  ‘“Fill your tankards and
drink!  We do not mourn the passing of a warrior tonight but honour his
life.”’

“‘Discipline,
courage and strength; the qualities of a warrior!”’  Phantom continued in
a frighteningly accurate imitation of Leo’s cold voice.

Mistral and
Phantom laughed and proceeded to irritate Phantasm by quoting Leo’s pompous
funeral speech until Fabian reappeared.

‘Thank you,
Phantasm.  This was very considerate of you,’ he said quietly, buttoning
the cuff on a black silk shirt. 

Mistral
quickly walked over and finished buttoning the cuff for him.  Her fingers
grazing the skin of his wrist in the briefest of touches was all it took to
send the blood coursing through her veins.  She didn’t dare look at him
but quickly turned away to grab her new velvet cloak from the arm of the sofa.
 Swinging it on, she turned back to face him, tentatively meeting his
eyes.  Her breath immediately caught in her throat when she saw the same
desire mirrored in his black gaze.

‘Lady De
Winter,’ he raised an eyebrow mockingly and held out his arm for her to take.

She smiled and
took his arm, walking with him to the door, ‘Lord De Winter.’

‘Brother?’ 
Phantom held his arm out to his twin.  Phantasm gave him a withering look
and flung his cloak on.

‘It’s time,’
he said, striding to the door and throwing it open. 

Snowflakes
danced in the crystalline air, blown from the snow laden roofs by a sharp
northerly wind to swirl around them as they walked across the village square
and up the path to the Main Building.  Mistral tugged the hood of her fur
lined cloak up, feeling the cold more keenly without the usual protection of
her long hair.  Fabian took her hand and held it tightly, mindful of the
icy path beneath their feet.  The heat of his touch burned her skin like
an open flame and she stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. 
Snowflakes clung to the dark strands of his tousled hair, framing his pale
serious face.  He turned to look at her with ebony eyes that seemed to
pierce her very soul and then he smiled, his sombre expression immediately lit
with a wild, glorious glow that made her heart sing.

‘Where are we
meeting Master Sphinx?’  Phantasm asked, abruptly shattering Mistral’s
moment of bliss.

‘The Main
Hall,’ Fabian replied, swiftly climbing the steps to the Entrance Hall.

The sound of
murmured voices steadily grew louder as they approached the Main Hall and
Mistral felt her heart quicken with nerves; she would be under the scrutiny of
every pair of eyes in that room.  Her hand tightened reflexively around
Fabian’s and he immediately returned the pressure in an unspoken gesture of
reassurance.

Without
pausing, Fabian swept her into the room.  She immediately felt the gaze of
the gathered Arcanes and Mages bore into her.  The wife of the enigmatic
Mage De Winter, the Ri’s Seer … she drew in a deep breath and forced her chin
up in a confident expression she did not feel.  

She could hear
the twins’ thoughts when they entered the room behind her.  Pride and
achievement blended equally with a strong sense of retribution.  The
half-breeds cast out from Council society now respected, even revered. 
She dipped her head, letting her hood cover her face while she permitted
herself a small smile of satisfaction for her brothers’ success. 

‘Lady De
Winter.’ 

A low growling
voice made her look up to meet the battle ravaged features of Mage Grapple.

‘Mage
Grapple,’ she murmured, bowing her head politely.

‘I look
forward to seeing you in my Council soon.’

She met his
cold grey eyes and nodded briefly.  Her position as Seer to the Ri was
only one of the roles she now had to fulfil.  She had two years of
training to pay back to the Ri through Contracts on their behalf; much of it
would be served at the Mage Council; highly paid, but she had no doubt it would
also be highly boring.

Mage Grapple
nodded briefly to Fabian and the twins before he turned away to be immediately
replaced by the familiar stern features of her Training Captain and proposed
Divinus, Leo Sphinx.

‘You are fully
apprised of your role today?’  he demanded in a low voice.

The twins and
Mistral nodded once, keeping their eyes locked on his icy blue gaze for the
slightest instruction. 

‘Bellicose,
Malachi and Mage Grapple.’ 

His lips
mouthed the words but Mistral heard them clearly.  Leo’s thoughts filled
her mind with shocking abruptness, an unwelcome cold intrusion.  She
blinked and forced herself to continue to hold his hard blue gaze.  Mage
Grapple …
his father
… although Mage Grapple was ignorant of that fact,
Leo was not and his bitterness stung Mistral like it was her own.

‘Ouch!’ 
she whispered to Fabian when Leo swept away.

Fabian turned
and brushed her cheek with a kiss, hiding the words he wanted to speak to her,
‘This is hard for him.  Leo is not as cold as he makes out.’

Mistral raised
an eyebrow but said nothing.  She had just been given access to Leo’s mind
and as far as she could see, there was more warmth in an icicle.  

‘Friends! 
I welcome you all to our humble Valley.’

Mistral hid a
groan as Mycroft Casterton’s unctuous voice carried across the room.  She
glanced up to see him stood before the fire; his heavily jowled face flushed
from the heat and no doubt a few large goblets of spiced wine. 

‘We gather
today to honour the passing of one of the greatest Seers the Isle has ever born
witness to.  Please ... I entreat you all to join me in a toast,’ he
paused and reached for an ornately decorated silver goblet.  ‘To the
Divinus!’

‘The
Divinus!’

The echoing of
his words rumbled around the Hall.  Mistral looked out from beneath her
hood, her eyes travelling across the room, examining each face, searching for
the familiar pinched features of Malachi Nox.  She started in recognition
of the regal features of Imperato, the chieftain of the centaur tribe.  He
was gazing directly at her, his sombre gaze unfathomable.  Beside him
stood Dravite, the centaur Mistral had treated after the final of The Festival
of the Arcane.  She glanced briefly at his dark chestnut flanks and noted
with satisfaction that barely a scar showed. 

‘It is time
for the ceremony to begin.  Please, follow me.’  Mycroft’s voice
droned out again. 

‘That’s got to
be the shortest speech he’s ever made!’  Phantom whispered.

‘He’s got a
eulogy to go yet.’  Mistral whispered back.  ‘Did you remember to
bring me a pillow?  Ow!’

‘Sorry! 
Was that your foot?  Only it’s normally in your mouth.’

‘I get the
message brother, no need to stamp on my foot.  Professional and a bit more
professional that’s me!’  Mistral hissed angrily.

‘Have you seen
Malachi yet?’

‘No. 
Where is he?’

‘I don’t know
– ’

‘There.’ 

Mistral
responded to Fabian’s quiet voice by following his gaze.  Malachi Nox was
standing on the far side of the room, his deathly pale face turned away to
converse with a tall heavily cloaked figure.    

‘Is that –?’

‘Yes.’

Bellicose La
Monte.  The head of the only vampire tribe on the Isle.  Mistral
stared in wonderment, completely forgetting that she was meant to be reading
him.  She
cursed silently when the crowd before her thinned and
began to file out of the room.  She had missed her fist opportunity. 

‘Ah, Lady De
Winter!  May I congratulate you on your achievement.’

Mistral
recognised the rich tones of Bryden Wolfsnare’s voice.  She looked up,
uncertain as to whether he was referring to her winning The Festival of the
Arcane, his festival, or to her finally achieving Sight.

‘You were
indisposed when the presentation was made … regretfully –’

So he was
talking about the festival.  Mistral hid a smile.  Grendel, her
warrior brother and half-troll, had accepted the prize on her behalf and
apparently his acceptance speech had left a lot to be desired.

‘You lost a
brother in the final.’  Bryden continued and Mistral instantly felt a
shadow cross her heart.  
Saul. 
‘But there is no greater
honour for an Arcane than to die in a celebration of our kind.  I know you
will feel pride at his passing.’

Disbelief
welled up inside Mistral.  Pride?  No, she certainly wasn’t proud
that Saul had died to save her, or that he had loved her and she had been
utterly incapable of showing him the slightest in return.  She clenched
her jaw and felt Fabian grip her hand more tightly.

‘Thank you
Bryden, for attending today.  Your presence is an honour not normally
bestowed upon the Valley, and something I should like to rectify.’

Leo’s cold
voice cut across her turbulent thoughts, she looked at Fabian, seeking the calm
of his black gaze.

‘Seer –’

Before she
could seek comfort from her Mage, Imperato’s soulful gaze met her own slightly
wild stare.

‘You are
complete.’ 

Imperato’s
simple statement required no response.  Mistral gazed wordlessly back at
the striking figure in front of her.  He suddenly smiled, lighting his
regal features with a glowing pride that was both beautiful and puzzling. 
Before Mistral could begin to interpret his expression he was gone and the
twins were beside her, their bright green eyes willing her to hear their thoughts.

With a sigh
akin to one about to embark upon a long conversation with a tiresome family
member, Mistral let their thoughts fill her mind in a jumbled profusion.

Have you
got a reading on Bellicose La Monte yet?

What is
Mage Rosenberg wearing?  It looks like a carnival tent!

What is
Malachi thinking?

What is
Mage Grapple thinking?

What is
Master Sphinx thinking?

It looks
like the secret is out about you having the Sight!

There goes
Master Sphinx’s grand unveiling tonight!

Mistral closed
her eyes and exhaled slowly, ‘No … I have no idea, I’m not his dressmaker … not
read him yet … don’t want to read him … nothing of interest … yes and good.’
 

Fabian gave
her a bemused look then smiled at her weary expression, realising that the
twins were inundating her with questions. 

‘I wish you
could read my thoughts,’ she muttered, catching his look.

‘Sometimes I
can,’ he murmured back, keeping his gaze fixed ahead.

Mistral gave
him a long look from beneath her eyelashes, ‘You still owe me half a honeymoon
–’

‘I know.’

Have you
read Bellicose La Monte yet?

‘No!’ 
She snapped loudly and immediately bowed her head, letting her hood cover her
face again to hide from the surprised looks of the two members of Bryden’s
tribe who were walking nearby.

They reached
the Entrance Hall and stepped out into the biting cold.  A respectful hush
fell as the crowd parted to make way for the Divinus, making his final journey
to the village square.

Mistral gazed
at the wicker coffin containing the body of the Ri’s greatest Seer.  It
seemed too small, too humble to contain such a powerful and influential
figure.  The woven bands of willow were adorned with sprigs of
white-berried mistletoe and waxy green holly.  Plaited black ribbons tied
two long poles of yew to either side, the polished wood resting upon the
shoulders of Leo, Malachi, an overawed looking Nereus and a profusely sweating
Mycroft Casterton.  Mistral fell in step behind the coffin, keeping a
tight hold on Fabian’s hand.  The walk down to the village was long and
slow.  Nobody spoke, the wintry silence broken only by the muffled beat of
the funeral drum.  The procession entered the square to meet a huge
gathering of mourners.  Warriors, villagers, Mage and Arcane; all had
gathered silently around the snow-capped pyre.  The pall bearers
approached slowly, every measured step seeming to take an age.  Finally
they were before the wooden structure, shuffling sideways to carefully lay the
coffin upon its platform.  Gleacher immediately stepped forward with a
blazing torch in his hand and paused, the flaming tip held close to the base of
the pyre.

Mycroft
stepped forward, surreptitiously wiping a drip of sweat from his brow, ‘We
assign our brother’s body to the flames, but his soul is eternal.’ 

Mycroft’s
voice was slightly out of breath, but not without aplomb.  Mistral watched
Gleacher touch the torch to the base of the pyre and flames instantly sprang
forth, quickly devouring the dry tinder and leaping up to consume the rest of
the pyre in a blaze of gold and red flames.

‘Arcane, Mage,
Ri.  We gather as one to celebrate the greatness of the Divinus.  May
his achievements live in our memories and in our hearts for this lifetime and
the next –’

Mistral let
Mycroft’s plummy tones wash over her unnoticed, she was staring intently at the
mysterious heavily cloaked figure of Bellicose La Monte, willing her mind to
clear of all thoughts and focus on his aura.  Sensing the intensity of her
gaze, Bellicose lifted his head and met her gaze, Mistral gasped out aloud at the
force of his stare but she held his blood red gaze, refusing to break the
connection until his aura sprang into view in a violent swirl of crimson. 
Intense hatred flooded her mind, full of thoughts of vengeance and
retribution.  None were hers ... she was in his mind. 

‘What have you
Seen?’  Fabian whispered anxiously, disturbed by the intensity of her
reaction.

‘Bellicose
–’   

‘Ah,’ he
exhaled softly and held her hand more tightly again.  ‘I am sure it is not
a pretty sight.’

‘No.’

Malachi?

‘Getting to it,’
she growled in response to the twins’ unspoken prompt. 

Forcing her
gaze onto the sharp features of Malachi Nox, Mistral exhaled slowly and let her
mind reveal his hidden thoughts and desires.  An aura of deepest blue swam
into view; lightning strikes of silver, beige and scarlet rocketed through the
blue ... excitement, boredom and anger ... Mistral frowned and pushed her mind
further, to See beyond the colourful display of emotions to his very thoughts,
his soul.