Belle and the Prophecy of Grey

Chapter 8

Belle lay curled on her side and stared into her dark room, having just woken from a series of terrible nightmares. Images of scarlet rivers, her friends surrounded by hordes of rats, and endless falls into bottomless caverns had woven in and out of her subconscious all night. Even awake, she was afraid to close her eyes for fear that she would start reliving the battle with Fangor and Shed, when she...when she had killed someone. The thought still made her want to weep.

Oh, yeah. And then there was that warrior thing.

She had tried to tell them. She couldn't be a warrior. She just couldn't be. She had actually let out a shocked laugh, when Vikus had implied that she and Gregor were the warriors in "The Prophecy of Grey." Gregor himself had just stared. But Vikus was serious.

"Yeah, you've got the wrong guy," Gregor protested once he had his voice back. "I don't know about you, Belle, but I promise, I am not a warrior."

"Nor am I!" insisted Belle. "You know me, Vikus! Luxa! This is not me!"

Why pretend and get their hopes up? Belle had seen pictures, read books, even met actual soldiers like Mareth and Perdita. She didn't remotely resemble a warrior herself. First of all, they were adults and usually had a lot of special weaponry. Belle was fourteen and all she had was a bow and arrows--and that was mostly just a hobby.

Belle couldn't see herself as a fighter. True, she believed there were some things in the world worth fighting for, but that wasn't the way for her. If you were quick enough and smart enough, you could get out of any scrape with minimal damage. And as her reaction to her first kill could attest, the thought of hurting someone else made her feel sick inside.

Vikus and Luxa had listened to their protests. Belle thought they might have convinced Luxa--she did know Belle, and she didn't have that high an opinion of Gregor, anyway--but Vikus was adamant.

"How many Overlanders survive the fall to the Underland, do you suppose?" he asked. "I would guess a tenth. And how many survive the rats after that? Perhaps another tenth. So out of a thousand Overlanders, let us say ten survive. How passing strange is it that you two, as well as Boots and your father, Gregor, and two of your family, Belle, came alive to us?"

"I suppose it is a little strange," Belle agreed, admittedly mostly to placate him. "But I do not see why that makes us the warriors."

"You will when you better understand the prophecy," replied Vikus. "Each person carries their own destiny. These walls tell our destiny. And your destinies require you to play a part in them."

"I don't know about this destiny thing," said Gregor. "I mean, as for my dad and Boots and I...we all have the same laundry room and we landed somewhere pretty close to you, so I'm thinking that's more of a coincidence. I'd like to help, but you guys are probably going to have to wait a little longer for your boy warrior."

Vikus just smiled and said they would put it before the council in the morning. This morning. Now. And Belle had been charged with waking her fellow 'warrior.'

She knocked before drawing open the curtain that made the door to Gregor's room, and waited for the groggy, "Come in?" He squinted in the light when she pulled the drape back, shielding his face with one arm.

"The council requests our presence," she told him, hovering in the doorway. "If you hurry, you may wash and eat first."

Gregor nodded. "Okay." He started to rise and realized Boots's head was cradled on his arm. He eased himself up without waking her. "What about Boots?"