Death had no manners. It had taken everything and left a large heap of fire, ash and smoke—and a broken heart. On a sandy hill, Kalani watched with leaking eyes as the now thinning smoke rose from where the village of Seti once stood.

‘Don’t look back.’Amse, the chief, said from somewhere behind her but Kalani didn’t turn around. She clasped her teeth and swallowed, pushing down a sharp retort at his insensitivity.
Their home was gone
…
Letion was gone and
--

‘We’ll rest here tonight.’ Amse shouted, stirring her thoughts. She noticed the sun had set, casting a shadow on the blackened thatched ruins. She whimpered and swept around, stumbling but she was swept into an embrace. Kalani buried her face on the neck she knew so well and wept.

‘Come, child.’ Mara the chief’s wife said as she rubbed her back. ‘Dwelling on it cannot change what happened. We must look forward.’

‘To what?!’ Kalani said, then held her tighter. She felt as though if she didn’t cry harder she would die. When she calmed down, Mara led her to sit by the fire as the servants scuttled to get the tents ready. There were less than fifty survivors with them, most of whom were Amse’s men or from his household. Kalani wasn’t surprised that none of them seemed grieved by what had happened. Any sign of weakness from them was seen as an abomination. However, the air was tense and quiet as everyone worked.

When the tents were ready, most of the people went to bed but Kalani remained by the fire, watching the flames dance.

‘I noticed you didn’t eat much of your dinner.’

She looked up and saw Amse opposite her. ‘I wasn’t hungry.’ she said.

‘You’ve survived and you must keep yourself alive.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘You have no choice.’

She glared at him. He stroked the jaded ivory tooth tied to his neck and closed his eyes, mumbling to himself in meditation. Kalani knew better than to disturb him. She placed her hands on the earth, ready to lift herself to leave when she felt a cold hand on her neck.

‘Fanndis.’ she cried, cringing.

Fanndis sat beside her on the floor and stroked her arm.

‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Mara says you should come to bed.’

Fanndis was twelve, six years younger than Kalani and much smaller, but she seemed to be faring better than she was.

They got up to leave.

‘Sit down--both of you.’ said Amse. ‘I have a tale for you.’

Kalani said, ‘Amse, we’ve just lost everything. This isn’t the time--’

‘No, not everything. It is time to tell you this tale.’

‘Aargh!’ Fanndis said and dropped on the ground beside Kalani, ‘Please, make it short.’

They watched him warm his wrinkled brown hands over the fire. They heard the sounds from the creatures of the night but no soul stirred in the camp.

Amse said to his talisman, ‘What is started must be finished.’

He looked up at them and smiled. The smile looked drawn and his eyes glistened as his mind wandered far beyond the flames he stared into. He sighed and began.

CHAPTER 2

The story begins west of the land of Calderon, in the kingdom of Naphdael. In a large dark room, with sacks of yarn at one end and shelves with finished cloth rolled like scrolls at the other, were seven looms arranged in a circle. In front of six of the looms sat a woman, weaving and chanting. Their eyes glowed and their palms burned with a golden light as they wove, yet they didn’t harm their work. They all chanted in a strange tongue, only stopping to inspect their progress.

Lamia was almost finished. She stopped chanting and frowned as she examined the red and black patterns on the cloth against the lantern close to her. Something was wrong. She knew it when she chose those colors, and she felt it as she wove with an urgency in her heart but she wanted to be sure. Closing her eyes, she ran her hands over the cloth. She cried out and fell from her seat, trembling. The others stopped their work and ran to her aid.

‘Stop! Don’t touch her.’ the oldest said to them. She took off her shawl and wrapped it around Lamia. The trembling stopped and she groaned, putting her hand on her head. She opened her eyes.

‘Anistral, forgive me. I shouldn’t--’

‘What did you see?’ asked Anistral, not letting go of her.

‘The child has been born.’

The women gasped.

‘Where?’

‘In Helmford, to the queen.’

Anistral paused, then said, ‘Is it Anundr’s?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then Anundr will return.’

‘And so will the bloodshed.’ said one of the women, pointing to Lamia’s work.

CHAPTER 3

That stormy night, time held its horses from crossing over Helmford as all her people held their breaths awaiting a child’s birth. Thirteen years had passed since the royal wedding and only the tales of two still births at the palace had followed.

Queen Celeste sighed and opened her eyes. She was exhausted but she wished she could wash herself. She hated as her clothes and hair clung to her sweaty skin and the stuffy smell of incense made her lightheaded. She looked across the room. The candles burned low but she made out the figures of her three midwives as they whispered to one another, believing she was asleep. The eldest, a matronly woman with frizzled hair, carried the sleeping child, swaddled in a white cloth.

‘Inna.’ Celeste called, rubbing her temples.

The one with the child walked to her side and placed the child in her arms.

‘My lady, she’s a beautiful girl.’ said Inna.

‘No! I cannot have a girl.’

‘But she’s still of value.’

‘Silence. You know nothing.’ she said, tearing up and rocking the child. ‘Oh, do the gods spite me so? They said it would be a boy—the Rahmon said so.’

She remembered the day well. It had been her birthday and she had left the celebration early feigning illness. She had laid herself before the golden altar of the goddess Sheroth, in the temple, while she wept. She wasn’t sure how long she had stayed there before she felt a hand on her neck. She jolted.

‘Daughter of Sheroth, why do you weep?’ Rahmon Akasha said.

She wiped her tears and replied, ‘Father of Helmford, you know what plagues my heart.’ She chose to keep her face on the statue of Sheroth rather than look at him.

‘Indeed, I do, but must you act in a way so demeaning of your position? Remember you are queen and the high priestess of Sheroth.’ he said, stroking his long brown beard.

‘But you alone know this is nothing compared to what has been done before.’

‘Do not speak of it! Such things that have been buried should not be dug up again.’

‘But even the plants grow from buried things.’

‘Do not anger me when I bring good news from the gods.’

‘And what could it be?’

‘The gods have seen your plight and have sent me to tell you that by the rains next year you shall have a son.’

She fell at his feet and kissed them. ‘Don’t lie to me. They’ve been silent for so long.’

He bent over, with support from his bronze staff, and held her chin. He said, ‘The gods do not lie.’ He let go of her and limped out, his white robes illuminated by the candle light.

Surely they’ve lied,
she said to herself, coming back to the present to see her midwives staring at her.

‘Where is the Rahmon?’ she asked.

‘My lady, the Father of Helmford and our lord the king are waiting outside.’ said one of them.

‘Let them in.’

King Meldric was the first to enter. His intimidating build belittled everything in an otherwise enormous room, yet there was nothing intimidating about his face at that moment. He was smiling, creating deep creases at the corners of his misty eyes. He kissed his wife as he took the child from her and he kissed the child and handled her with a gentleness that made Celeste’s heart bleed.

‘My love, why do you look so unhappy on a day like this?’ he said, sitting on her bed.

Celeste rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Believe me, I am happy but I thought I would give you a son, an heir—’

‘We have a living child. That is what matters.’

‘And for how long?’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘Forgive me. This is not what the Rahmon prophesied.’

‘I am only the mouthpiece of the gods.’ Akasha said at the entrance. Soft golden light streamed from the corridor casting a warm glow against his brown hair and long white robe but his presence was like a cold draft on a warm day. He took a limp forward, his long staff made an angry thud against the stone floor and he turned his gaze at the midwives. Nothing else needed to be said. The women bowed and hurried past him out of the room. He raised a brow as his eyes fell on the baby and he limped towards the bed.

‘The time has come.’ he said, stretching his wrinkled hands. The king put the child in his hands and he nodded at the queen and left the room.

The midwives returned and put the room in order, packing the blood-soiled sheets in a bundle.

Meldric rose. ‘I must tell the men to carry the news all over the city tonight.’

‘But it’s still raining.’

‘My lady, forgive me,’ said the youngest of the midwives, ‘but the rains stopped immediately you gave birth. It’s as if the elements were awaiting her birth.’

‘Don’t talk such foolishness in my presence.’ Celeste said and motioned, with quick flaps of her hand, for all of them to leave.

‘Please forgive me.’ the young midwife said and hurried after the others.

Meldric smiled after them and said, ‘Don’t be angry, dearest, she meant no harm. I also believe some power is at work in her birth. I knew it would be a girl.’

‘How?’

He patted her hand. ‘That is for our daughter,
Natalia
, to learn.’

Celeste flinched. ‘What?
Natalia
? But that isn’t a name from our parts.’

‘The queen of Vernon bears the name so I presume it carries great meaning.’ He walked around the room, touching and examining everything in his path.

‘You presume? Oh the gods save me—what would you tell the Rahmon?’

‘What I’ve told you, probably less.’

‘You are not yourself. What madness has come over you?’

‘You must excuse me, my love, much as I’m enjoying our conversation, I have important matters to attend to.’ He left the room.

She lay back but couldn’t relax. She knew what had begun.