Flight of the Crow

The journeys of a prophet

Chapter 1 (possibly)

"Spirits, this is boring!" Exclaimed Aranae, slamming the pages shut. "Why do I have to read this?"

  Her green eyes turned back on the book, glaring disdainfully. Laying on the study desk it gave off an air of superiority as if to say: "Well if I'm so boring, then it certainly isn't my fault, little girl!"

  Not that the Sanctuary's books talked, but Aranae had heard of stranger things and she was only fifteen. Mordechai, the old librarian had assigned "The History of the Guilds" as a part of her studies at the sanctuary. “There’s a lot to be found in history!” He had said. “It always repeats itself, so, once you know it well enough, you can make a pretty good guess of what is to come.” However, Ara mused, if that were true, than everybody would be reading history books. Besides, she could see things in the future without having to make vague guesses at them. That’s because Aranae was a prophetess. The only one left in the whole world, she was told.

  Every night she would have a dream about something or another. As of now, she couldn’t control what she dreamt about, but the Elders said that would come with time. Her dreams never made much sense; at least they were never useful to her and sometimes were very frightening. When she was 7, she saw someone getting his stomach cut open by a cruel looking man with long knife. She had screamed and ran to her nurse’s room where the nurse lovingly sang lullabies to chase the bad dreams away. It hadn’t worked. She saw splendid looking noblemen proposing to beautiful maidens, only to be turned down. She saw great fleets in a harbor, ready to sail to war. She saw incredible feats of engineering being made, great harvests coming to ruin, precious black pearls being found by unlikely divers. All this Aranae could see without even trying. As if she ever would need history books.

  She looked up at Kendrew pleadingly. Making big eyes had always worked before, so she had high hopes of getting out of the library early. The library was large and very old. It had been built underground in the caves beneath the sanctuary almost as soon as the main halls had been constructed over a thousand years ago. A chill lingered in the place giving it a dismal atmosphere. Although lighting the large copper braziers chased it away momentarily, it returned almost instantly after the fires died.

  "Can we leave now?" she asked impatiently, eager to leave the cold place. Kendrew had been the head warden of the sanctuary for 12 years and he didn't like being told what to do, especially by students. He did seem to a soft spot for Ara though and under his guardianship, Ara had gotten quite used to not having to follow the otherwise strict rules. Kendrew was not a soft man, nor did he look it. With his square jaw and dark bristly hair, his broad features made for a very imposing figure. He looked like a man you'd see at a quarry or a harbor. Sweating and grunting, hauling boulders and crates the size of small houses, Ara thought. Needless to say he looked quite out of place in the library.

  Kendrew made the face he always did when he was about to give in; twisting his lips into a pained expression, as if there was something pinching them. "I suppose..." he began as he always did with feigned reluctance. Aranae had a suspicion that he hated the library almost as much as she did. Not that she disliked books, only the ones that were given to her by the librarian. Large, dusty tomes, written by old men with wagging beards and minds as dusty as the books they wrote. She preferred stories like "The Adventures of Eda Baskengrave", a book she had asked to be read to her over and over before she had learned to read herself. Or “The Dead Poems”; an ancient collection of works, by men whose names have long been forgotten.

  There was the "Smugglers Handbook", a large book with thick pages and detailed diagrams. It showed how to sail against the wind and what color you should paint your sails to attract the least attention at night. It showed how to make secret storage compartments that would elude the eyes of even the most dedicated customs officer. It showed how to sew small items by in your clothes, or how to hide them in your hair. An Illegal raka stinger for example could be used as a hairpin and wouldn’t arouse any questions whatsoever, the book promised. The book had been given to her by Xephanos Tarvas, who had written parts of it himself. At least, that's what he claimed. Xeph was a smuggler himself, so Ara guessed that gave some validity to his claims. However, when she was six, he’d also told her that he had sailed to the moon and back in four days and visited the palace of the Moon Queen. With its towering spires and beautifully carved statues, all made of purest silver, he’d said. Xeph had always told incredible stories about his adventures and she had believed every word. But not anymore, she thought. She was fifteen now and too old for those stories. Except maybe Eda Baskengrave.

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