Snow crunched beneath his black leather boots, filling the silence. Branches piled with slush hung low as if to sweep the land. The crisp and harsh air stung his lungs as the path went uphill. Strapped to his back and lidded, the basket dragged down his steps.
Despite their meager gathering, it contained enough weight to make his trek slow. Samir admired the swift birds flying high overhead.
There was a need that he would trade a dozen baskets of fish to fulfill. He patted the journal tucked in his black trousers' pocket, resisting the urge to pull it out.
Today was tax day, which meant there was no time to waste. They'd fished most of the day away, and the castle gates would be closing before sunset. So he had to make haste.
The closer he got to the city, the broader and more packed the path became. The trees dispersed in the way of tall, grandiose weather-beaten stone buildings. Shops and homes cloistered together in a circular pattern that could only be seen from the hills. Snow piled high on their roofs, and icicles dripped from the backsides.
Clear paths for easy access, a mandatory shoveling system upheld by the occupants, stood before him. Samir could feel stares as he entered the bustling city. The breeze sent scattered whispers of his sleeveless shirt and wrinkled trousers along with the spiraling jet black tattoo running up his right arm, over his chest, and crawling upward toward his left ear. Their murmurs tangled with the dancing sounds of city life. From the merchants declaring their competitive prices to children giggling on nearby benches, the city clamored with more noises that Samir's unaccustomed ears throbbed with dismayed protest.
He much preferred the silence entrapping their cabin nestled in the forest near the shore.
Their palpable disapproval caused them to give him a wide berth as if to show without a doubt that they didn't associate with him. He disregarded them as he adjusted the basket that was beginning to dig into his lower back.
A sea of white laid before him, and it was understandable that his black attire caught their attention. But he would never understand why they refrained from wearing any other color. If it weren't for their golden eyes, they would blend in entirely with the snow with their bright colorless clothing and pale, glossy skin.
When he'd asked his mother, she'd huffed and called them idiots. It didn't make sense to Samir since they were all Witans, so were he and his mother idiots too?
His mother hadn't liked that response. Samir rubbed the back of his neck as he continued through the city, wiping away the phantom sensation of where his mother had smacked him.
Although they shared the same features, Samir knew he stood out like the rare celestial tigers that inhabited the Eastern Slopes. But unlike those revered tigers who had the backing of religious scripts, Samir was an eccentric and unwelcomed sight.
Not just his clothing and tattoos but the cluster of rings adorning his fidgeting fingers, his ruffled hair, and tanned skin. Everyone around him was neat. Not a single strand of silvery-white hair out of place, pale skin unblemished, and not a hint of jewelry to flaunt.
But that was fine with him. He was far more comfortable than the lot of them. He smiled at a passing woman whose nose crinkled at him. She turned her head away so sharply, it was a wonder it didn't crack in protest.
Samir shrugged and resumed the tiresome journey to the castle gates. The contempt was far worse there than in the city.
The guards glared down their stubby noses at him even though he towered over them. Then, after checking his papers thoroughly, presumably in the hopes of finding indiscretion, they grudgingly waved him in.
Samir paused as he craned his head to stare at the glamorous castle before him. A thin slant of snow blanketed its arched roof. The grey stone glistened from a distance as if covered by a sheet of ice, sending the sunlight skittering off in random directions across the ground. But upon closer inspection, it was a mosaic of humble rocks as if pulled off the roadside to create a bold castle against the blue skies.
He shook off his awe and scanned the lively castle grounds with curiosity. Tax day was almost completed, yet the number of people standing around with solemn expressions and empty hands was voluminous.
Samir searched for a probable reason, but his eyes found nothing besides a line of guards along the walls. Obviously, something important was underway. More reason for him to hasten and deliver his goods.
The tax collector hunkered behind a wooden table with a stack of papers near the castle gates. At his side were several wagons with goods from the people, organized by harvest, clothing, and objects of value amongst many others.
The man was thinner than air with a white shirt buttoned to the collar and tucked into slick trousers. His silver hair gelled back, and his beard was trimmed to perfection.
Samir headed over to him, unstrapping the basket once he approached. "I have the harvest for the Blackthorns."
"Next time, take care to be punctual." The man's piercing gold eyes glowered at him. "You almost missed taxes."
Samir offered the basket with a crooked smile. "I'll be sure to remember that."
"I hope you will," the tax collector replied with narrowed eyes before shuffling through the papers and pulling out one. He glanced over at the basket then at the form in his hand. "This is not the required amount."
"Can't blame us if the fish don't bite," Samir said with a shrug. "That's a couple of square meals right there."
"A couple of what?" The man's face morphed into bafflement. Then, as if realizing the shift in expression, he quickly sobered and shook his head. "Regardless of that, this is unacceptable. And as the law dictates for first-time offenders, you must pay double the tax next month."
Samir rocked his feet in the cold ground and nodded. It was the law. He and his mother were well aware of the consequences of coming up short. The crowd by the castle doors began to mutter, catching Samir's attention.
He turned back to the tax collector and pointed at the gathering. "Well, that matter is squared away. What's going on over there?"
The man's eyes widened. He unfolded his hands and gestured gracefully at Samir's arm. "It is impolite to point. Refrain from doing so, please."
Samir retracted his arm with a frown, creasing the skin of his forehead. "So, what's happening?"
He stared at Samir as if he'd sported two heads. "The Head Seer passed to the afterlife. Bless him eternally."
"Okay," Samir dragged out the word until the recollection of his mother's stories sprung forth in his mind. When the Head Seer passed away, Witan tradition required them to gather the best prospects in the castle grounds to see who the gemstone would bind with and award the title of Head Seer to someone through a prophesied vision.
"That makes sense," Samir mumbled to himself as he peered at the crowd again. The castle doors opened with a loud groan as a man with a long, neat white beard stepped out. Even from afar, Samir could see the small blue gemstone that beamed in the sunlight.
The tax collector gestured again. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Oh." Samir returned his attention and grinned. "Sorry, that was it."
"If so, do you mind?" The man looked behind him, and Samir followed his gaze to the growing line.
Samir hurried to the side, closer to the crowd. He started toward the castle gates when he caught another glimpse of the gemstone. His interest peaked anew.
It wouldn't hurt to observe the proceedings. Samir edged to the rear of the gathering, ignoring the disapproving glances of those in front of him.
He shuffled until he stood at their side, watching the elder walk along a line of people. He held up the gemstone to each person he passed, waited for a moment, and then continued. Finally, when the blue orb did nothing remarkable, people began to trickle off with disappointed expressions.
I wonder how the gemstone reacts. What intrinsic properties did it hold?
Samir was eager to witness its spontaneity in action. He tracked the elder's movements in the crowd, not discerning the dwindling group. The elder was fast approaching Samir's spot. At that realization, Samir began to step backward, trying not to catch the man's eye.
He doubted he was wanted in a tradition like this.
The people behind him grumbled with discontent but shifted to give him room to continue back. As if noticing his movement, the elder's molten gold eyes latched onto him. His thin eyebrows rose in surprise.
Now close enough, Samir could see the gemstone fully. Inside its seemingly endless sea of blue was a swirling white mist that moved at a whirlwind's pace. Samir halted as his magic surged, matching the frantic movement of the gemstone's fog.
His blood raced through his veins. The stone overcame his focus. The people in the crowd disappeared, as did the castle looming in front of him and the elder. It was like tunnel vision. The only thing he could see was the cerulean orb.
It began to pulsate a piercing white glow that sent his heart pounding in his chest. He heard the crowd muttering but couldn't distinguish their words over the roar in his ears.
Suddenly, it felt as if the ground dropped from under him, and whiteness clouded his vision. Images formulated and flashed through his mind at heart-wrenching speed.
Black ashes rained from a gloomy sky. Lava sputtered out of a volcano. Earth overturned and thrown aside with monstrous energy. A mud-covered hand stretched out to the dark skies. Roses blooming in a garden congested with dead flowers. Flashes of swords and piles of arrows aimed at a towering castle. A throne crusted in blood in an empty room. An onyx sword perched in the earth, the red ribbon at its hilt drifting with the wind. Words became mixed with the images, and Samir could feel his mouth moving unwillingly, yanked off his tongue by another force. Once the terms stopped flowing, another jumble of images tangled in his mind and disappeared as swiftly as they arose.
Gradually, his vision returned, black spots dotting his eyesight. The crowd had withdrawn, staring in disbelief. The elder stood in front of him with shock written all over his face.
Samir blinked. His head was lighter than a feather, and his magic drained to the bone. The glowing gemstone tempered off, turning back to its polished blue appearance.
The older man cleared his throat. His eyes filled with skepticism as he stared at Samir. The silence grew in the courtyard until the man spoke in a taut voice, "It has chosen and prophesied through you."
"Chosen?" Samir repeated as he tried to wrap his thoughts around what just happened.
The man nodded, presenting Samir with the gemstone.
"I pronounce you the new Head Seer."
§
Here's a reminder of the prophecy, Samir foretold:
Whispers in the ear breed chaos
Leading traditions to go askew
As ashes blacken the sky until reborn
Earth rises from beneath the melted snow
Malice spreads through the Four Kingdoms
Resting on the edge of madness
A fragile existence blooms into a flower
In poisoned soil against all odds