One;
Waking UpMy alarm clock went off at the exactly right time — for Papa. My father is a farmer, like almost all the other men in our village. Which means waking up at virtually the break of dawn. Grandmother is a total tech-head, and she’s the one who insists that everyone has at least one piece of equipment with us at all times (thus the alarm clock). I moan.
I pull the covers over my head, trying to ignore the high, repetitive sound of the alarm. But then it just stops. At first, I think it’s Papa, about to tell me what a lazybone I am. But a full minute passes, and no reprimand comes with it. I risk peeking out from between the blankets. It’s so out of place and unexpected that it takes me a few seconds to register. When I do, I start blinking and leap up in bed, almost all traces of sleepiness gone.
“What are you doing here?”
The man clothed fully in black does not answer. An equally black emotionless Ash Druid mask covers nearly all of his face, making it hard to tell what he looks like without pulling it off. And I know that you never,
never raise a hand against a
Kitaran. They’re the royal family’s most trusted servants, and no one knows where they come from. There are many, many speculations and rumors considering that, mostly among the people who wish to meet them. Or be one. Or . . . something concerning them.
Just as he lifts his hand, my door opens and Papa walks in. The
Kitaran’s hand drops from my night stand to his side, and Papa freezes. He and the
Kitaran stare at each other for what feels like forever.
“Mycah,” He finally says quietly. “Come here, slowly.”
Keeping my eyes on the
Kitaran, blinking like crazy, I obey him. Joining him by the door, I suddenly feel like someone’s talking to me. I frown, trying to concentrate on the voice. I can almost hear it . . .
“Mycah,” Papa says sharply, “Didn’t you hear me?”
I jump, and shake my head.
“Go to your grandmother. She’s in the kitchen. Tell her what just happened, and I’ll talk to him.”
I half turn, starting to go out into the hallway.
“No.”
I whirl around. The
Kitaran has spoken for the first time since he appeared, his voice low, deep, and filled with authority. “Korum.” I feel rather than see Papa flinch. And not without reason. This stranger has just spoken Papa’s name without seeming to think twice about it. “Your son and I need to talk. Alone.” His low, deep voice resonates with power, making it hard to believe anything good will come of disobeying him. I gulp. If we’re holding rumors as the most reliable information, then it’s a
really bad idea to be alone with any member, no matter what they look like. A long, long, uncomfortable silence stretches out until the air itself nearly snaps with the tension. Finally, Papa relents, loosing a long resigned sigh.
“You have already taken my wife away. Will you destroy my son as well, with your complex prophecies and elaborate schemes?”
I stare at him, unable to comprehend what he’s saying. And unable to stop blinking. “Papa . . . ?” The word escapes my lips as a whisper. He doesn’t meet my eyes, and for once they aren’t filled with the certainty that things will be okay. That we’ll be okay. That
I’ll be okay. The
Kitaran, however, has no such qualms about sparing feelings.
“I do not know if your son will be destroyed, Korum. But I must speak to him. Alone.”
Papa stares at him one last time, clearly fighting the urge to impersonate one of his oxen and not budge. But eventually, he leaves. Slowly, with all the manner of a scolded puppy, he leaves my room and shuts the door. I swallow. My Papa is usually loud, boisterous, and not at all cowed by many of the things other people consider to be frightening. Which is why I myself am so frightened by the appearance of the
Kitaran. I stare at him and try my absolute best not to blink. However, that leads me to gulping hard. This time, it’s one of the gulps that hurt.
The
Kitaran sighs. “Calm down, Mycah. I’ve not come all the way here just to return empty-handed.” His voice sounds . . . different. More respectful, but at the same time . . . I don’t know. More . . . familiar with me, and that makes no sense whatsoever. “My name, in my native language, is
Ravell Ellézere. In your native tongue, it is translated to Ash Forester.” He pulls a rumpled-looking scroll from inside his long over-coat. Crossing the room in three big strides, he holds the scroll out to me. “What is in this scroll is the reason why I came out here. Well, parts of it, in any case.”
Finally getting my blinking and gulping under control, I take the scroll from his out-stretched hand warily.
Mycah. The royal Oracle living at the palace is close to death.
However, she has imparted the knowledge of who must take her place as Oracle before she perishes. You will have had visions of the future before, I trust, or else she would not See you as her successor. It is a great honor to be chosen for this position, but it is understood if a country boy like yourself is unwilling to leave behind what is familiar to you at first. Unwilling though you may be, young Oracle, our queendom will fall apart if there is no Seer by the Queen’s side, thus there is no choice but for you to accept for the good of your home. Ellézere will inform you of the more delicate details.
Yours, Queen Relda.
I look up slowly, my eyes traveling upwards from the parchment to the holes in the
Kitaran’s mask. Somehow, I can’t bring myself to connect a name to this foreboding man standing in front of me. I try to imagine what I must look like to him; childish, young, scared, inexperienced.
“Should I take this seriously?” I give myself a mental pat on the back for managing to keep my voice even. Unintentionally, and ruining the image of being calm, I flinch when the
Kitaran shows the first sign of emotion as he sighs, crossing his arms.
“What reason would I have to
not be serious about this, Mycah?”
He’s got a point. I don’t know anyone who would get a kick out of this in town, and I don’t see why someone from the capital city would come all this way, learn my name and my father’s just for a prank. Not only that, but Papa was acting as if this has happened before . . . . With —
“Earlier,” I say carefully, trying not to upset the
Kitaran, “Papa mentioned my mother and . . . and prophecies. Is this what he meant?”
I don’t get an answer from him, leaving me to stew in the uncomfortably heavy silence. Eventually, he uncrosses his arms and says, not unkindly, “Get dressed. We have at most three days before we are expected to leave for the palace, and you can make amends with this.” While his voice isn’t commanding, it isn’t friendly, either — neutral, polite, and completely that of a stranger, different from earlier when Papa left my room. But there’s an underlying current of power that sends a rush of panic through me; Only three days? How am I supposed to tell everyone — My friends, Grandmother, the men who call on me to work with them when there’s too much for them to do it alone? Mallun? Koris? Sheilee? Hana? Suddenly there are strong arms circling me, and I realize that he’s trying to comfort me. Which is completely unexpected. I mean, how did he make the transition from polite stranger to friend in a matter of seconds?
“Get dressed,” He repeats at the door. And then he’s gone. The sudden presence and just as sudden absence of his body heat is so shocking that I just stand there for a few minutes. Then Grandmother’s voice disrupts me from my stupor.
“You cannot take my grandson!” I love Grandmother’s voice — everything about her, really — but she can be really, really frightening when she wants to be. This is one of those times. “Your wretched queen took away my daughter, but by all the gods, she’ll not have my grandson as well!”
I can hear Papa trying to reason with her, to calm her down. She starts shrieking at both of them, her strong voice carrying through the house. Throughout all this, though, I can’t hear
him saying anything. It’s as if leaving my room has made him mute. Or maybe he’s just speaking too low for me to hear him. I go around my room as quietly as possible, as if making a sound will somehow finalize — I have to
leave. I shudder when I’m dressed. No. I have to get out of here. I won’t run away, not from this, but I have to get out of the house or I feel like I’ll suffocate. This feeling has happened to me a few times before, and it’s always been right before I’d seen something that shouldn’t be possible. Or when I just really needed to see one or more of my friends. Right now is definitely an “I need my best friends
instantly” kind of emergency.
“But you have Her Majesties’
signature,” Sheilee says for the umpteenth time, her voice filled with jealous awe, as if that makes this any better.
I sigh as Mallun and Hana roll their eyes at Sheilee’s predictable yet endearing shallowness. It’s the third day, and by now we’ve all rehearsed this bit of conversation so much I could probably say the next bit with her, but Koris interrupts.
“So what?” He says loyally. “Mycah still doesn’t have a choice in the matter, and we all know that Wood Haven is the only town we’ve ever been in.”
Smiling at him for his words, I continue where Koris left off. “And in any case, you guys wouldn’t be with me. It’d be much easier to make that kind of transition if I had at least one of you.”
“Why not ask the
Kitaran if one of us can come with you, then?” Hana suggests from where she’s curled in a depression of ground, ever logical.
“I already asked him,” I say, shaking my head regretfully. “He said he’d look into it, but it sounded like there isn’t really a high possibility of it happening.” She nods, looking crest-fallen. I can’t blame her. I mean, we’ve all wanted to leave Wood Haven one day to seek our fortunes somewhere else, even if it wasn’t the capital.
“Well,” Mallun sighs, drawing out the word in his special way so that it sounds like “wall” instead of “well”. “I guess you’re just going to carry out your part of the pact first.” He levels his gaze at me, skewering me with his acorn-brown eyes. I gulp a little under the pressure of his dark stare. We’d all made a blood-pact ages ago, when we were all still just midgets, that when one of us was old enough or our family let us go, that person would choose a place to go and make their fortune. Then the rest of us would have to follow in the first’s footsteps to whatever city they chose. I always thought I would be the last one to go, since I’m the youngest in our little group.
Sheilee heaves a great long sigh, and everyone looks at her questioningly. “T’isn’t fair,” she complains in her loftily accented voice. “How come Mycah gets to go when I’ve already begun preparations for setting up my own shop?”
“You think I
want to go?” I start to ask, just as Hana laughs. I look at her quizzically, asking why she laughed with my eyes.
“Who would’ve thought that it’d be Kitty who’d leave first?” She smiles ruefully at me. “Kitty” is the pet name I somehow ended up with ages ago. “And for his Sight, no less. It wasn’t because of Garment’s tailoring, or Puppet’s stories, or Thinker’s toys, or even Orchid’s art.”
Mallun, Koris, Hana, and Sheilee all have a talent; I was the only one left out, unfairly. I shrug. “Oh well,” I sigh. “I just hope Haron knew what he was doing when he gave me this power.”
“Don’t be silly,” Sheilee scolds me, frowning. “The great Lord Haron
always knows what he is doing when he grants a gift to mortals such as us.”
I hold up my hands in surrender, smiling. “Of course. Forgive my doubting soul.”
“Mycah?” We all turn at Grandmother’s questioning voice. “Where are you?”
“Over here,” I call back, wondering why she’s searching for me. I mean, I told them where I was going.
Grandmother’s head pops through the ferns, her characteristic frown upon her face. Grandmother is a short, round woman, but only outsiders see her as
small. Everyone here knows that it’s a bad idea to make Cora Rushseir angry. Her round glasses are perched on her long nose, so she always reminds me of a grumpy owl in a grey dress. She regards me with the blue-grey eyes that she and Papa both share, her gaze clear and sharp.
“What is it, Ms. Rushseir?” Hana asks politely.
Grandmother sighs, then steps to the side to admit the
Kitaran. The gasps of my friends tell me, unfortunately, it’s not a stress-induced illusion on my part.
“Hello, sir,” Hana says. Being the oldest among us, she’s almost always the one to speak for the others.
Koris elbows me slightly, jolting me out of my reverie. He tilts his head to Hana, the
Kitaran, and Grandmother talking when I look at him questioningly.
“We don’t want him to go, sir,” I hear Hana saying, “but if he has to, then he has to.”
“I see,” The
Kitaran says in that deep, powerful voice of his. His mask turns towards me, and I stamp down the urge to shudder. “The queen has allowed one other companion besides myself to come with us to the capital. Talk amongst yourselves who will go; I will wait at the carriage.”
We all stare at each other, speechless as he leaves the small clearing. Only one of them? But . . . . I . . .
“Well, don’t just sit there like a bunch of stunned mice!” Grandmother says gruffly, making us all jump. “Who will go with Mycah and the
Kitaran to the capital? You’re leaving in an hour or so.” Grandmother still hasn’t really forgiven Papa for giving up on keeping me here so easily, or the queen for sending the
Kitaran. “I think you should go, Ms. Rushseir,” Hana says slowly. “You’re his grandmother, after all. And—”
“No,” Grandmother says, shaking her head. “I would only insult her Majesty” Her voice takes on a bitter note when she says that, “and I am not fit for the life required in the capital these days. Too many old women are expected to be quiet, patient, docile. No, I will stay here, where I am expected to be myself.” We all nod, understanding. Grandmother is not quiet, patient or docile in the
least. “What about Mallun?” Hana asks, understandably. “He’s dependable, and those two have been friends the longest . . .”
But both Mallun and Grandmother shake their heads this time. “I wouldn’t know what t’do,” Mallun says. “I’d be too overwhelmed with all them nobles, bein’ all proud and haughty and whatnot.”
“I think . . . Sheilee should go,” I say slowly.
“Why?” Hana asks, startled. Everyone excluding Grandmother start clamoring, asking why I think Sheilee would be a good choice.
“Well, think about it. Just think about it!” I say, trying to fend them off. “Mallun and Grandmother already said why they won’t go. Papa has his farms, Hana has her family to worry about, and Koris has always been afraid of new places; the capital was just a pipedream for you, right? Something to fantasize about when all the chores are done.” He nods, shivering at the thought of it. “Sheilee is the only one here who’s really, really
dreamed about living in the capital and setting up her own tailor shop. Plus she has all the capital accents and fashions down; don’t you think she’d fit in?”
They all settle down, considering my reasons. Not only does she have the accents and fashions, I’m hoping she can tell me about how I’m supposed to act. People from the south aren’t usually welcomed very kindly in the capital city, especially when they act like total countrified idiots.
Sheilee’s eyes start gleaming. “You really want me to go?” She asks, her voice breathy from excitement. “Really, truly?”
“Really, truly,” I say back. “Although truthfully I’m not sure if the queen will let you stay for more than a few days, what with how imperious she sounded in the letter.”
Hana nods slowly. “Alright. Alright, you and Sheilee go to the capital and serve her Majesty. Sheilee, if the queen won’t let you stay for longer than the first few days, than you should look into getting work, earn enough money for your shop.” Sheilee nods, looking as if her naming day, harvest festival and Hallow’s eve have all come at once. “Mycah?” Sheilee and I look over just in time to be smothered by the whole lot of them, Grandmother included. “Just make sure you write, okay?”
My throat constricts, and I do my best to hug them back. “Okay,” I mumble past the lump in my throat.
“Now!” Grandmother steps back from the group and claps, making us all jump. “Mycah, Sheilee, you should go pack your things for the capital. Your father will be in the fields, hiding from me, I imagine.” She grimaces at this, as if imagining the scolding she’ll give him when Sheilee and I have gone.
“Papa?” I look out over our fields, one of the best in Wood Haven, and one of my father’s pride and joys. “Pa~pa? Where are you?” It takes me awhile, but I find him in the pumpkin patch, sitting one the sturdiest one. He has this vacant look on his face, like his thoughts are so consuming the rest of the world has fallen away.
I swallow. I know that look; that’s the look he gets when he’s thinking about my mother. It’s always made me feel really lonely. My red hair is a trait I inherited from my mother, along with my thin, wiry frame and freckles. My eyes are something I got from both my parents; amber (like Papa) in the center, with grey and blue (apparently like Mama) seeping into the rims, and bits of waht look like gold in small almost-stripes on the tops. Papa will look at me sometimes with an expression like he thinks I’m supposed to be her.
“Papa?” I say softly, almost as if I’m whispering. “Papa.” I try again, my voice stronger. He jolts, blinking the far away thoughts from his head.
“Yes?” He looks up at me, the locket he always keeps with him with my mother’s picture inside dangling from his grip, smiling faintly. He looks tired, like he’s a dog whose master scolded it repeatedly. “Hello, Kitten.” It used to bother me that I have such a feminine nickname not just from my friends, but also from my father; but now with these lonely, accusatory looks popping up more often, I don’t want it to go away.
I take a quick, deep brerath. What do I do? How do I say goodbye? After a silent moment of us staring at each other mutely, I give up on words and just hug him. He wraps his arms around me, rocking us from side to side.
“I don’t wanna go,” I whisper, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill from behind my eyelids. “I don’t wanna leave this — any of it.” My voice is trembling. Dammit.
“Shhh,” Papa whispers, rubbing my back. “I don’t want you to go either.”
“Then why didn’t you fight harder?” I can’t stop the question from bursting out of my mouth, though i instantly regret it. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s okay,” he says, sighing. “I just — your mother was taken from us like this. When Ravell came in the same fashion — just showing up in your bedroom with no fanfare, no warning — I froze. Or more accurately, I ran away. I couldn’t face losing my son after losing the love of my life to the nobility and their back-stabbing courtesies.”
I siff, failing a little in not vrying. “In the end I’m still going.”
“Yes,” he agrees, sadness coloring his tone. “In the end you’re still going to the capitol.”
I sit down, hugging my knee to my chest and curling the other beneath me. “Sheilee’s coming with me,” I say aftr another silence. “We got permission to take another person with us. Just one, though.”
“And you chose to bring Sheilee?” Papa asks.
“Are you surprised, too?” I ask, looking at him askance. He shakes his head.
“that girl has too much . . .” he struggles to find the right word. “
brilliance for us. She’s much more suited to the life of a noble-born child. I think this was a good choice for both of you; that way you can ask her to help you wtih traditions.”
I grin. “That was part of why I asked her to come, too.” He grins back at me, winking with somre of his old spirit. “What do you think the queen is like?” I ask slowly, the grins disappearing from our faces. “From the letter she sounded really imperious, but . . .”
Papa doesn’t say anything for a minute or so, gathering his words together. “I think she is too used to having her way be the only way,” he says eventually. “Nobility tend to look down on people like us, who have no political power.” His eyes darken, like a bad memory just rammed into his brain.
Silence covers us as I digest that. And I can’t help wondering, again, at his words; what happened between my parents and the court? We’re both so wrapped up in our thoughts we don’t notice Sheilee until she throws her arms around my father.
“Goodbye, Mr. Rushseir!” She excalims, burying her head in his shoulder like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do. “I hope to see you again at the end of this endeavor.”
“We will,” Papa assures her, hugging her back. “One way or another, we’ll all see each other again.”
Two;
Setting Out, Rather AwkwardlyAfter all the goodbyes ahve been said, and everything packed, Sheilee and I wait in front of the carriage.
“Where do you think we’ll be lodging?” Sheilee asks, eyes bright with excitement. “With the queen, perhaps? Or somewhere else in the palace?”
I shrug, a little unwilling to imagine it. It’d be like finalizing, once and or all, that this may be the last time I ever see my hometown. No one came to see us off; they’re too busy working, or they didn’t want to get all emotional, or they don’t know us that well. I let my gaze roam around. If this is the last time, might as well get a good look, right? There’s Sheilee’s house, her home right above her mother’s flower shop where Hana works sometimes. And right next to it is my house, a garden overflowing with grass and wild flowers, courtesy of my mother’s nature preferences (she always liked letting things grow where they would). Across from our homes is Koris and Mallun’s house. Koris was orphaned at five, when bandits attacked his parent’s trading wagon. So his aunt and uncle (Mallun’s parents) took him in to live with them. I think they balance each other out pretty well, with Koris’ habit of hiding in the corner of the room and Mallun’s dragging him out to talk (even though he stays silent himself a lot). And past that is—
“Oi, you two!” I jump, a voice jolting me out of my head. The coach driver is leaning around, glaring at us. “the
Kitaran’s already in there, get a move on!”
We blink at each other. I’d forgotten he’d said he’d wait here. I guess Sheilee did, too.
“Do you think it matters where we put the bags?” I ask Sheilee, nervous. She shrugs, a movement unlike her. I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s nervous around here. After a minute or two of debating (and another yelling bout from the driver), we just decide to toss them in with us. There isn’t much; a bag for me with clothes, an anklet Sheilee made years ago for Hana but turned out to be too small, so she stuck it on me, a diary, and necessities. There’s slightly more with Sheilee, but I’m sure we can make room.
Of course, I wasn’t taking into account that the inside might be enchanted; Oh my gods, it’s huge inside! It’s like someone stuck a home inside a moving container. I could go back and get more stuff with all this space. Except I can’t, because a jolt runs through my legs, knocking me a little off-balance.
“We’ve started off, haven’t we?” I ask, a feeling of dread settling hard inside my stomach. Sheilee nods, grinning. “Well . . .” I glance around. “I guess we could explore?”
“Yes!” Sheilee squeals, tearing off and leaving me blinking. I set the bags around the door so that they won’t fal over and we can still get out easily.
“Okay,” I mutter to myself. “What’s here?” I peer around, trying not to think too hard about how much magic it must have taken to do this. We have magicians in Wood Haven, but their powers pale in comparison to this; making flowers bloom faster, softening the butter, trivial things like that. This? This is the work of a master.
It really does look like someone’s living in here; there’s a kitchen full of ingredients, some Mr. Cullen would love to get his hands on for his kitchen. A bedroom, what looks like an art room with drawings covering every inch. I could spend days in there, just staring at it all. Not to mention a living room — with someone lying on the couch.
I frown. Wasn’t it supposed to be just Sheilee, the
Kitaran, and me? So who is this guy? He has brown, curly hair, though some of it’s covered by an arm thrown over his face and a sheet flap on the edge of the couch. His right arm is bent across his stomach, his feet covered with grey socks, are curled and leaning agaisnt the back of the couch, so it looks almost like he’s kneeling while he’s lying on his back. His clothes are simple; a brown tunic, long grey pants and a tassled belt.
He grumbles in his sleep, and I jump. I start blinking again, a nervous habit of mine. Should I wake him? We’ve probably already left town, but . . . . He yawns, taking his arm away from his face and opening his eyes slowly, blinking repeatedly.
“Um,” I start, panicking a little. “Who—?”
He blinks up at me blearily, wiggling his fingers. He yawns again, scratching at his neck. then something seems to occur to him, and he whirls up to look at me with wide eyes.
“We haven’t left yet, have we?” He asks urgently.
“What?” I ask, too surprised to say anything else. “I mean I — Yeah, but — What—”
“Aargh!” He flops down onto his back again, whacking his forehead with both hands. “I overslept again! Why didn’t he wake me up?” He stays like that, knees curled and hands pressed against his skin. An odd croaking noise sounds from somewhere, and I look around before realizing that it’s him amking that noise with his throat.
“Um,” I start again, unsure what to say. “Who are you?”
“Hmm?” He pauses in the croaking, tilting his head and arms toward me. “Oh.” It’s odd just seeing his mouth move when the rest of his face is hidden. “I’m Ash. You’re Mycah. She’s Sheilee. Speaking of, where is Sheilee?”
“How do you know our names?” I ask, startled into speech. He sits up, stretching his legs out. Haven;t I heard that name somewhere?
He stands, stretching. “C’mere,” he says, grabbing my sleeve. “Where' we're going should answer that. Oh, but we should find Sheilee first.”
Well. This has taken an odd turn. He’s walking too fast for me to jsut jerk my hand away, and I do actually want to find Sheilee, so I just try to keep up with his pace.
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