Prophecy's Promise (Prophecy of the Edges Book 1) (21 page)

“I am not property.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to change.”

“Danue and Krineem escaped. What’s the big deal?”

“The Empire viewed this as an act of war. In our minds, Danue and the Mitanni kidnapped Krineem. Much in the same way, they will say that Bahlym has kidnapped us. The general demanded that the Mitanni return Krineem, of course.”

“Pig.”

Adara shrugged. “That’s what the Mitanni thought. They said that Krineem was her own to return as she wished. The general retaliated by demanding the death of all the fostered Mitanni children. The citizens of the Empire who wanted to save the fosterlings gathered with the children and locked themselves in the goddess’s temple. They were under siege for three days. Many died, but many survived. Krineem, so distraught by the violence she had inspired returned to the Empire, but was killed. It’s impossible to say who killed her. The Mitanni children and those who had helped them fled to the mountains. The Empire chased them, but none who entered the mountains returned alive.”

I shivered. “How could anyone live in such a horrible place?”

“Armed hovercrafts, right on our tail.” Bahlym shouted. My question went unanswered.

“Guardians, that was fast,” I said.

Adara pulled threads of the Mist in a protective cocoon around our ship. “The Mitanni will be more inclined to believe us if we are obvious enemies of the Empire,” she mused.

“You mean they might not believe us?” I squeaked.

“We are two runaway harlots,” Adara said bitterly. “Like Krineem. The Mitanni might not want to repeat history.”

Bahlym pointed to a screen, “That dot is us.” He pointed to the center dot. “Those on the edge of the screen are the Empire. I’m positive they’ve got missiles on us.”

“Will we make it?” I asked.

Bahlym gripped the controls more tightly, and his knuckles turned white. “This is a transport craft.” A shrill siren blared a warning. Bahlym careened the craft to the right. I toppled over, smashing against the wall of the cabin. Streaks of light flared past the spot we’d been only moments before. “Adara’s on defense, we need you on offense,” he ordered. “Quickly! And fasten up.”

“I can try,” I said as I buckled myself into the safety restraints, but my new abilities seemed only to have one mode: kill. And I did not want to be responsible for any more deaths.

“We need more than trying,” Bahlym grunted, coaxing the craft through a tailspin. The restraints held me in place. Out the window, I saw sky. Ground. Sky. Shots of light zoomed past like comets.

Bahlym couldn’t dodge them all. A ball of energy smashed against the underbelly of the hovercraft, obliterating Adara’s shield. We plummeted. Bahlym uttered words I did not recognize. My stomach felt as if it remained leagues above us. Spinning again. I felt blessed pressure from my seat as Bahlym regained control of our altitude.

“Hailey!” Adara shrieked. “Do something!”

Tendrils of Mist snaked around our craft. Our nose jerked upward, rotating 180 degrees. Bahlym engaged the rear thrusters, trying to pull free of the force that held us upside down and pulled us toward the hovercrafts.

“Cut those threads!” Bahlym ordered.

Panic overwhelmed me. I sliced against the threads that bound our ship, focusing on the source of the tapestry. The Mist surged inside of me and exploded like a volcano, and the Mist that bound our craft evaporated. The source of the weaving had also evaporated.

“Where did it go?” Adara asked. There was one less dot, one less ship pursuing us.

“No idea.” I couldn’t feel the Mist that belonged to those people. Part of me felt a sick fascination and part of me felt horrified. Accessing Azabin was getting too easy and disgustingly, I enjoyed the overwhelming feeling of power. I focused on slowing down the other hovercrafts.

“The crafts are slower, but it’s not enough. We can’t outrun them,” Bahlym yelled.

“Can you get rid of more?” Adara asked.

Part of me hungered for those peoples’ deaths. “No, I don’t have enough endurance to do them all,” I lied.

Suddenly, the dots dispersed. They retreated toward Empire territory, abandoning their pursuit. “Where are they all going?” I asked.

Bahlym simply pointed out the front window. There were a hundred men and women flying in the air in front of a gigantic expanse of mountains.

We had reached the Mitanni.

The hovercraft floated to the ground like the first leaf of fall; its rusty brown a jarring contrast to the valley’s green grass. It belched one final
whir
before Bahlym turned it off. “At least they haven’t killed us yet,” he pointed out.

The three of us gazed with wonder upon the flying army. Hundreds of men and women, their bright purple tunics fluttering like the tassels of a kite, formed a cloud above us. Cracks of blue lightning flashed in their hands, preparing to cascade an attack on us. I hadn’t heard of self-levitation—outside of children’s stories.

“Look at the women,” Adara whispered in awe. “They wield the Mist like a weapon. Do you think they are warriors?”

“At least the culture is more reasonable than yours on that count,” I said, hopefully.

“Time to see if, after eight generations, they’ve been more forgiving toward us than we’ve been toward them,” Bahlym said. “Let’s go out there and explain ourselves.”

“Stay inside. I will go alone,” I told them, feigning more confidence than I felt. Adara nodded, but Bahlym grabbed for the small weapon he had strapped to his side. “Did you see them up there?” I asked him. “That little stick isn’t going to do anything to them.”

“Don’t mention that you are a runaway bride,” Bahlym suggested. “They don’t need another way to compare you to Krineem.”

Taking a deep breath, I strode out of the craft. I paused for a moment, holding my hands above my head to show that I held no weapons. I resisted the urge to pull the Mist to me. Defenseless, I called out to the multitude of Weavers. Each of them wielded more Mist than the most powerful Gryshelm Weavers could ever dream to control. One of the women yelled down, her voice echoing against the mountains. “I am Desha, the Chief Priestess of the Mitanni. Why has the Empire trespassed into our territory?”

I smiled, imagining Adara’s squeal of delight. A priestess led this community. “While the two inside the hovercraft are from the Empire, I am not. I am the Prophecy’s Promise from your Western-most Slice.” I paused for a few moments to allow my words to sink in. “The Empire is trying to crush me, believing that they are more suitable than the Prophecy to select a Promise. My companions have defied their Empire in order to bring me to you to seek your help.” The wind whipped through my hair, the ends slapping my neck, but I stood perfectly still, waiting.

The army remained suspended above me. “Maybe you are a decoy from the Empire?”

I lifted Shezdon’s book above my head. It was the only thing that might convince them. The people overhead began to murmur amongst themselves until Desha raised her arm. Obediently, they became silent again. So, they did recognize the book.

“What Mist binds this book?” Desha demanded. “The tapestry is as beautiful as it is dangerous.” The book rose from my hands and spun as if in the center of a cyclone. After a moment, she floated to the ground and landed with an echoing thud. The book stopped spinning and came to rest before the woman as if it was lying on a table. She stroked the cover gently then flipped through the pages of the book. “The pages are blank!” she said in an accusatory tone.

“Not to me.” I could hear the tremor in my own voice, but I raised my chin. “To all but me, the pages look blank. And that is the proof that I am the Promise.”

“How can we know that you can read the book?”

“You don’t. And I can’t read the book, not exactly. I can only see the letters. The language itself is lost to my Slice. But this is the book: The Edging of the World. It is from my Slice. If we were from the Empire and trying to trick you, we’d never bring the book with us. It’s too valuable. That’s why the Empire tried to take it from me. That’s why we fled.”

“Your words make sense,” Desha acknowledged. “But you came from the Empire, and they are as treacherous as a scorpion. You are tainted by them.” She spat the words. The flying army roared in agreement.

“By the Guardians! There is much more at stake than the poor diplomatic relationships between two countries on a single Slice,” I said, frustration overcoming my trepidation. “The Edges are growing. Innocent people on both sides of our Edge are dying. And possibly innocent people near all the Edges. You may be far inland, but an Edge will be here one day. All we need from you is a safe and quiet place for me to decipher this book so I can fulfill my damn destiny!”

“Fairly said,” Desha acknowledged. “You are welcome, but the Empirites must return home.”

“In helping me escape they gave up their home. We all come or we all leave.”

“Loyalty to your friends. Admirable. But we harbored those of the Empire before.”

“And from what I hear, it did not end well for the Empire,” I said, recalling that flattery was often the best diplomatic tool.

She considered me for a few moments. “Fine. Leave the craft here. We will not allow its tainted Mist any closer to our homes. You and your friends may come with us.”

“Thank you.” Relief rushed through me. Before that moment, I hadn’t let myself think what our option would be if the Mitanni did not take us in. I hurried back into the hovercraft and helped Bahlym shuffle the packs around. Bahlym pointed out that the city was nowhere in sight and that we’d have to leave behind what we couldn’t easily carry. We abandoned nearly seventy percent of the gold pieces we’d brought with us. With luck, the prices in the Mitanni’s city wouldn’t be too astronomically high and the gold we could carry would support us, financially, while I learned how to read the book.

Bahlym held up the painting that I’d rescued. In the painting, a river meandered beneath a sky exploding with oranges, reds, and pinks. A figure in a short blue dress looked out toward the horizon. “Did you pick this one on purpose?”

“No. I grabbed one.”

“I finished this painting the day I agreed to run my father’s business. The girl in red is you,” he traced his finger along the horizon. “It is the Promise gazing over the landscape after an Edge has been removed. It’s the first sunset, right before the first star winks on and the gods realize that it’s over. That Azabin is dead and humans will survive.”

I moved to put my hand on his shoulder, wanting to comfort him, but he shook his head. So I left. I turned back before closing the door. The sight of Bahlym holding the painting, tears streaming down his face, is something I will never forget.

Adara took my arm in hers. “I think he wanted this all along,” she tried to assure me. “He hated not becoming a priest and staying a cleric.”

But I did not think that Bahlym’s tears were remorse. He’d been torn between the two lives once, just like I had been. But he had made his choice and, from that moment on, was not the same person, just as I was not the same person. I’d assumed he hid the paintings in the back hallways because his paintings were private. I’d meant the painting to comfort him, but I had misjudged. I did not press him when he exited the hovercraft, eyes and nose red.

Most of the Mitanni flew back to their city, but it was immediately obvious that neither Adara, Bahlym, nor I had ever attempted self-levitation and would have to walk to the city. Desha left us in the charge of a wrinkled woman, face leathered by the sun, who introduced herself simply as Kirta. I was pleasantly surprised that Desha didn’t leave any guards.

The four of us began the arduous trek to the city. Adara probably didn’t own a single pair of shoes that would accommodate the steep incline up the rocky trail. The ones she wore today were a shining example of Empirite indulgence. Literally. Bright silver beads coated the slender stiletto, which was about as long and thin as my index finger. A dozen neon blue straps secured her foot to the metallic platform.

“Are you okay to walk in those?” I whispered to her.

She nodded, but pain was obvious on her face.

“We need to stop,” I announced, pulling my bag around and rummaging through it. I found my pair of riding boots. “Put these on.”

“I will
not
. Those look disgusting,” she said under her breath.

“What are you wearing?” Kirta asked, noticing Adara’s shoes. “Are those some sort of torture device?”

“No! These were made by Farhed Nazzeer. He’s one of the top designers in the city,” Adara protested indignantly. But when it was clear that none of us would continue on until she changed into the more reasonable shoes that I presented, she relented. Soon, shoes were the least of our problems. None of us, besides the old woman, was used to the thin mountain air or the physical exertion. She waited patiently as we took break after break. Eventually, Kirta simply took Adara’s pack and slung it over her own shoulder, silently bounding forward like a damned mountain goat.

Thankfully, the trek was difficult, but not dangerous. The wide path gave way to sheer drops, but nearly all of those were bordered by rickety fencing. Not that I’d trust the fencing with even the force of one of the strong gusts, but it did make me feel better. Truth be told, I didn’t know why people who could fly would care about bridges, but we wouldn’t have managed without them.

Citrus groves and vineyards adorned the landscape, giving way to wild forests followed by lush fields of crops. From time to time, we’d see vibrant purple, yellow, or blue painted little cottages hanging off the sides of the mountains, each one an engineering marvel that it did not tumble down the cliffs. I couldn’t tell how they could have reinforced the floors, but they were all very far off the path. Once or twice, I thought I saw children peering at us from behind the thick foliage along the path, but other than that, the people of the valleys remained out of sight.

Eventually, we made it. We rounded a corner and the city sparkled into view. It adorned the pinnacle of the highest mountain like a cake topper. For the next half hour, as the road snaked higher and higher, the switchbacks in the path made the city seem to peek-a-boo with us from behind the mountains. There were no walls, but the location itself was fortification enough. The views from the city must expose the entire vicinity for hundreds of miles. The path to the Mitanni’s city had been too narrow for locomobiles and in many places had required us to walk single file. No wonder the Mitanni so thoroughly devastated the Empire in their war. Their capital city was practically unreachable.

Through this whole trip, nothing had made me as homesick as seeing something I knew my friends would love to see. Meena would adore the pale pink stone that stacked together to make four- and five-story buildings. Every window displayed colorful curtains that flapped gently in the breeze. Most doors were flung wide open, ushering the energy of the city morning into their homes and stores. The undulation of the ground did not end when we passed into the city proper. Steps were inserted into the road every few yards. Sometimes it was a full flight of steps. Sometimes up and sometimes down. The walls of the buildings followed the road, turning basements into second floors over the course of a block.

I wondered what these people would think of Gryshelm’s austere muddy-brown, steepled buildings accented only with splotches of black, white, and red, and the nearly level landscape upon which it perched. Would they find my city stately or stuffy?

As we walked through the city, I recognized the baker, several merchants, and other people I passed as members of the flying army. I realized that it had been a militia. Perhaps that is why they didn’t feel the need to surround us with guards. The average citizen held more power than Gryshelm’s best Warrior Weavers. We were hardly a threat.

Kirta ushered us through the city. She transformed from taciturn to tour-guide, stopping from time to time to point out the local sites. Down one street there were food markets. Down another were the schools. Along the way, she asked if we would like to see another chiseled statue of their wondrous former leaders.

I interrupted her before she could delve into another lengthy explanation. “I know that you are tasked with delaying us while your leaders determine what to do,” I said. Her hazel eyes unabashedly acknowledged the truth of my statement, a half smile hinted at approval of my directness. “But you are baby-sitting two scholars and a politician. We are not used to excitement. We are used to quiet days punctuated with solid meals. We’d happily remain distracted, but we are famished and sore from that hike.”

She squinted at me, giving only a passing glance to Adara and Bahlym, “You see yourself as a scholar?” she said.

“That’s what I am.” I shrugged. “Or would have been.” Belatedly, I wondered how she knew that I was referring to myself as the Scholar.

“Child, I consider myself a simple grandmother, but could best the greatest warrior in the Empire given the opportunity. Do not limit yourself by your self-definition.” She wagged her gnarled finger at me.

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“After many years, I’ve found that’s all that you can hope for,” Kirta said cryptically. “And what about you two from the Empire? Which is the scholar and which is the politician?”

“My lady, as of a few hours ago, we are not of the Empire. We have no country,” Bahlym said.

“I think you are the politician?” she said to Bahlym and continued without waiting for a response. “That walk did take a while. Let’s see what we can do to get you children a nice old-fashioned mountain lunch.” At Bahlym’s frown, she flashed a blindingly white set of teeth and patted him on the cheek. “I consider anyone younger than forty winters a child. Come. We will finish the tour once your bellies are full.”