Stormchild: Emeline and the Forest Mage

4 Prophecy

"So gaan die profesie, 'In die vyfde tyd van ʼn derde tyd sal die meisiekind van drome weer kom. Die Vaders dra haar op, Götteril volg haar, die Erdil benodig haar. Sy bring in die eerste tyd van die vierde tyd. Sy vernietig die bose donker met die Vaders se asem. Sy verteenwoordig die mensdom en tog is sy gebreek. Die Vaders sal haar nie laat sterf nie.'"

~ Stories van die Eerste Wyse Man deur Iksar Rinkë (Written in Ashttïg Ewïg's Time, The Season of the Lords)

(Translation)

"Thus goes the prophecy,'In the fifth time of a third time the girl child of dreams will come again. The Fathers carry her, Götteril follows her, Erdil needs her. She brings the first time of a fourth time. She destroys the wicked darkness with the Father's breath. She represents humankind and she is broken. The Fathers will not allow her to perish.'"

~ Stories from the First Wise Man by Iksar Rinkë (Written in Ashttïg Ewïg's Time, The Season of the Lords)

Erdil

    The sun sank below the horizon, leaving bitter cold and the gloom of night to contend with. The Fathers were merciful indeed, no wind tonight.

    They lumbered out of town covered with furs and Avétk thought of how he could explain things to Emeline. The prophecy, the old man, the myths and legends, the riders and shapers, his lord. Hmm... Something useful had to be buried in that rotting mind of his.

    What was it Mother had always said? 'Tell your story from start to finish. Don't ramble on about nonsense, boy!' He sneered, remembering her frowning as she said it, her coal black eyes going a shade darker if that was possible, her index finger waggling mid-air, and her elegant neck seeming elongated when she peered down at him. What a woman! He thought that maybe, if he'd had a heart, he might've missed her. But he didn't.

    They passed the shambles of run down shacks justified as homes for the unwanted by those who absolved themselves from guilt with half lidded eyes. Avétk was accustomed to this darkness, the suffering of innocents, but Emeline flinched with guilt and shame at every hungry, dirty face watching them walk by. It was a sort of haunting, the impoverished and forgotten painting their faces into her memory. Maybe the child had never even been this far from her home or seen the realities of life's harsh, cold pains.

    Emeline's obvious flinches and guilty expressions merited a brief thought, but Avétk continued walking and quickly forgot the diversion. 'I'll start with the prophecy,' he thought. The cold had already got hold of his nose, and it burned when he breathed, down into his lungs. Emeline's nose had turned a pale blue too, even though she was covered with the extra fur cape he'd got her. An odd colour on skin.

    'Hey, Em, You ever been to Skävia?' Avétk did not look at her, but kept his eyes fixed on the road.

    'No,' she said, 'but I've heard about it.'

    That's what he'd expected her to say. 'Have you heard about the prophecy?'

    'No?' Curiosity was plain in her voice when she responded, which was what he'd been hoping for. Story telling was after all, about the mystery.

    They walked in silence for a few minutes. Well, not complete silence. There was the sound of their boots rhythmically crushing against an icy layer of snow, the odd squeal and squeak from the fields around them, creaks and rustles coming from the trees and brushes, and their quiet breaths puffing.

    'What is the prophecy?' The question bursting from her blue lips. Avétk kept his eyes on the road and told her the story the way his mother would have liked, imagining she might've been proud.