44. Harper
44
HARPER
T he white-haired crone awaited her. Seemingly agitated, Vanir paced beside the wellspring, her shoulders bowed and hunched with age.
“Oh, child. Come. Sit . Sit !”
Harper bowed and did as she was bidden, kneeling on the hard, rocky ground. Vanir scooped up a cup of the icy water and pressed it into her hands. “Drink it now. Girl, the fates tell me more is yet to be known, and if you do not know now , they warn me you shall never!”
Harper drained the cup, dribbling water down her chin in her haste. Vanir’s firm, knobbly hands caught her as she sank into dreams.
Deep voices droned around her, a choir singing, but their song was a lifeless dirge. Before her, she saw greenery wither and livestock crumple to the ground in death, all burning. The sky was dark, and a wind rose, whipping about her. Magic sparked in the distance and a fire grew, its smoke casting over her with the wind, forcing itself up her nostrils to choke her.
A light in the darkness, a pinprick against the onslaught of death and despair, tugged her closer. In the maelstrom, the tiniest thread of life pulsed, bright and clear. She fought to reach it, kneeling in the scorched, blood-soaked earth to pluck it from the ground. As she touched it, the light flickered before brightening around her, thrusting outward, beating back the dark. Harper’s eyes widened. In her palms, she held a Dragonheart radiating all hues. Its iridescent surfaces shimmered as they reflected its own light in fractured beams.
Suddenly, she felt a gentle hand upon the top of her head. She glanced up to see the ghostly form of an impossibly tall, ethereal woman towering over her. Her golden hair flowed over an elegant gown of pure, white light, and her face was too bright to behold.
“Fated one, thou hast chosen well. Thou shalt seek the fulfilment of my vision. Half a millennia have I waited for this moment. Valxiron’s legion spreads anew… in Saradon, his disciple. It was spoken. The Heart of a Dragon shall resurrect Him, and the Heart of a Dragon shall cast Him down. Thou shalt come into the midst of a storm thou cannot seek to comprehend. As it was before, so it will be again. Thrice as hard willst He attack, and thrice as deadly will the toll be. Thou art a pinprick of fading light against the onslaught, yet if thou standest true and with faith unwavering, thou shalt triumph over Valxiron’s servant. Beware the Tainted Star and heed the Shadow.”
The voice faded, the ghostly touch leaving her. Harper opened her mouth to ask for more, for none of the words made sense, but no sound emerged. Then she was flying herself, up and away, the Dragonheart clutched in her hands. She passed out of the storm and into the dark of night, where the veil of stars glittered above her, clean and pure.
All blurred. She sat in Vanir’s cave once more. Her first instinct was to look to her hands. Empty. No hint of anything having lain in them.
“What is it, girl? Let me see!” Vanir demanded impatiently. The crone grasped Harper’s face between her hard palms and stared into what felt like Harper’s very soul with her milky eyes. Harper suddenly knew she could do as the elves did—see into another’s mind. Vanir’s sightless orbs widened as she beheld what Harper had seen.
“Twelve blessings,” she whispered in awe, her hands slipping away from Harper’s cheeks. “ She has gifted you. I knew it must be of significance when I felt the summons for you. Valxiron… I have not heard that name uttered in an age, and ever should it remain unspoken.” She muttered to herself in Dwarvish. Harper did not understand, but Vanir had already creaked to her feet and shuffled deeper into the cave, muttering to herself. “Mother have mercy upon us all, if she is involved.” Vanir turned to Harper. “It seems you are racking up quite the clutch of titles, girl. Harper of Caledan, of Pelenor, of House Ravakian, Mother Blessed, and Fated One. I ought to call you Frelsa , not girl .”
“Frelsa?”
“Saviour. You will save us all from Valxiron’s disciple.”
“I–What? Nonsense. I cannot. I don’t understand!” Harper spluttered.
Vanir cackled and moved close to clasp Harper’s hands and draw her to her feet. “It matters not, Frelsa . Don’t you see? It does not matter . It will come to pass if you heed her words.”
“But I don’t know what they mean! Who is she?” Harper protested.
Vanir laughed, rich and throaty. “Oh, I did not say they would make sense. But nonetheless, heed them as best you can, for Erendriel’s words will save us all. You may not wield the blade that severs the serpent's head, but you are a puppet of greater powers. Trust them to move you as they will.”
Erendriel? Valxiron? Chills crawled down Harper’s back at Vanir’s words, and for a moment, she felt an icy sheet of panic drench her. This was not a game of chatura . She was in charge of her own actions. There was one simple problem—she had no idea what to do.
In the dark, eerie cave, with only the babble of the wellspring—which spoke in its burbling, hissing voice—it was easy to see wraiths and threats. Hastily, she bid Vanir farewell, rushed past the curious Halvar, and fled to the bridge above the cleft. Dimitrius was not there. It was only when she stepped out onto the stone bridge that she realised that was the cause of her sinking heart, because somewhere in herself, she knew what she had really sought was to ask him. Knowing that he would have told her, if he could.
In solitude, she breathed in the cold air as she sat and leaned against the wall that guarded the abyss. Below, Vanir’s waterfall tumbled. Harper closed her eyes, reliving the vision over and over, trying to recall every last detail, each word the strange woman had said, and Vanir’s own cryptic offerings. She could not help but wonder whether Dimitrius would appear again—or decipher whether she sought or dreaded that. It was almost dark when she rose on stiff, aching, chilled limbs… with no answers.
She could tell the others thought her vision almost silly, but the dwarves—for the konig was told all of the Mother’s prophecies at once and already knew of her vision—took it far more seriously.
“We cannot allow you to come with us.” Konig Korrin glared at Harper, who stood before him, outfitted in one of his smith’s own fine mail shirts.
“With respect, Konig, I am not one of your subjects. Thus, you cannot command me,” said Harper. She stood tall, but her heart hammered, and she had to lock her knees to stop them from shaking. To speak to a king thusly! Toroth would have struck her down where she stood, but she had taken the measure of Korrin and knew he was not the same.
He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “The Mother’s visions do not lie. If fated She says, fated you are. If you are the one who will save us all, it is too much to risk you.”
“You would lock me up to prevent harm coming to me?” Harper’s lips curled in derision. What a load of tripe. “Vanir—” Gasps rang out at her disrespect, and she checked herself. “The Mother told me to trust where the visions willed me to go.”
It served her own ends to use Vanir’s words to buy her freedom. Korrin wouldn’t imprison her, surely. It did not seem like the kind of deed the dwarves would commit. It was that gamble she bet on, holding her breath unconsciously as she waited for his reply. She could not be certain, after all. Not after she had seen how they treated their slaves, the tikrit . The pits in Afnirheim had been their true home, after all.
Korrin ground his teeth together. “No,” he admitted. “We would not do that. You have committed no crime. You are free to come and go as you will, as a guest of Keldheim and my hall.”
“Then with respect, Konig, I will go to Afnirheim. I have a vested interest in what is there, as we all do, as the Mother has seen,” she added pointedly, bringing her fist to her chest to show him respect in her defiance, glad she knew at least this one small custom of his people. He subsided at her gesture, but she could see he was still unhappy.
“Are you sure this is wise?” Brand murmured to her as the konig dismissed them to speak more with his jarls on their forthcoming strategy and inevitable battles.
“No,” Harper admitted. “But I don’t know what else to do. There are so many questions and no answers.”
“I will find answers. And revenge ,” said Erika gleefully, smiling darkly at Harper. “I have waited a lifetime to repay the suffering of my family. Now that I find the one who caused it is within my reach, I will see it done.”
“You cannot presume to take him on single-handedly,” said Brand, exasperated. “Saradon is an elf, a most powerful one now, it seems. You are strong, but none of us would get near him.”
“I don’t care. I’ll die trying. I’ll try, even if none of you come with me.”
“I will always come with you,” Brand said in a low voice. Harper pretended not to hear. Aedon walked in stony-faced silence beside her. She was still not truly speaking to him.
“We’re all going,” Harper eventually said. “When the dwarves depart for Afnirheim next week, we will all go with them. Erika, we will stand side by side with you, come what may.” She felt the weight of the nomad’s surprise upon her—and then her warm hand on Harper’s shoulder with a silent squeeze of thanks before it dropped away.
Vanir’s words weighed on her. The mysterious vision of the one Vanir called Erendriel. Somehow, Harper was just another body in this, yet something more. She shivered as the dark clouds and scorched, ruined land of her visions teased her. The stakes could not have been higher, if what she had seen would come to pass should she fail. They could avert a catastrophe. Or they could die.