Chapter 8
EIGHT
“THE COUNCIL OF ELDERS?” THIA ASKED.
“Our appointed leaders,” Sorscha clarified. “Pagdan being the head, of course.” Her tone was off.
Thia frowned. “Should I be nervous?”
A voice came from behind her. “Should we?” Oskaren stood in the doorway, looking between them.
“What are you talking about?”
She slunk forward. “If the elders want to see you, they must have found something that implicates you in the Tyrant’s schemes.”
Sorscha shook her head. “We don’t know that for sure.”
“I’m not working with the king. I swear. I just want to go home,” Thia said to the woman whose hospitality she was relying on. She was planning to ask him for help. But then, Pagdan already knew that.
“I know, love.” Sorscha put her hand on Thia’s shoulder. “Come. We shan’t keep them waiting.”
Chest thumping, Thia let Sorscha guide her out of the hut and into the sunlight of a clear morning.
To her annoyance, she heard Oskaren prowling behind them, apparently delighted by the potential of her looming downfall.
They crossed to the opposite side of the clearing, around the remains of yesterday’s bonfire to a larger hut set in a cluster of similar dwellings.
Sorscha rapped on the door, and after a moment, Pagdan called, “Come in!”
They entered, Sorscha first to hold the door for Thia, who blinked as her sight adjusted to the dim interior.
A single large room greeted her, empty except for an enormous round table in the center.
Six people of varying age and appearance stood around it, watching Thia as she approached.
She nervously smoothed her hair, self-conscious.
Then Pagdan pursed his lips. “Oskaren.”
“Your lordship,” came the sarcastic reply.
“I ask that you wait outside.”
“You may ask, but I may not acquiesce.”
Again, Thia was surprised at her tone. She would have expected the words to drip with snark or at least a sense of stubbornness, but instead they sounded flat.
Perhaps that was to be expected of a girl with no heart.
She glanced back at her and was rewarded with a mocking grin.
Thia held her stare, ignoring the scorn for the hollowness beneath.
A muscle ticked in Oskaren’s jaw, and she abruptly spun toward the door. “Fine.”
Thia tried not to feel too pleased with herself, something that turned out to be easy as Pagdan ushered her forward.
Sorscha closed the door behind Oskaren, and Pagdan said, “Why did you not tell us who you were?”
Thia frowned. “What do you mean?”
He swept out a hand over the table. Thia stepped forward, and when she was close enough that light from the small window glinted off the smooth oak, something silver shimmered on its surface.
Writing, looping and elegant, was etched into the table like it had been burnt there with silver fire. The Tyrant’s days are numbered, it read. The Storm Crow is among you.
A rose in similar silver cuts sat just below, a serpent twining around its stem.
“You think I’m this—Storm Crow?” Thia asked, reading the words again.
Pagdan rubbed his chin. “You must know. Callista is the one that sent you to us, after all.”
“What does she have to do with this?”
He rubbed a finger over the rose. “These words appeared only this morning. This is her sigil, the mark of the Silver Sorceress. She sent the message,” he clarified, when Thia continued to gawk.
Her cheeks heated at the expectancy in his gaze, and she swallowed. “What…what is the Storm Crow?”
He took her in for a long moment. “You really don’t know?
” She shook her head, and he sighed. “I suppose if tales of our plight had reached unknown realms, we might have long ago been saved.” He wetted his lips.
“It is a story as old as the Tyrant’s reign, which is shortly to come upon its seventieth year.
The land of Eldris once had no king. Instead, six Houses coexisted in peace, coming together in a High Council once a year to ensure the prosperity of all lands.
House Nightwing was the one exception; they appointed the Dómgeorn line to rule them, though these monarchs never set foot over their borders in conquest.
“That was where the Tyrant struck first. He slaughtered House Nightwing and claimed the title of king for himself. It was not long after that he named himself ruler of all of Eldris, and one by one the remaining Houses, either by trickery or conquest, fell to him. Today, only the Losrohir remain free, and they have done so by retreating so deeply into their magic that they have not been seen since that day.”
Sorscha placed a delicate hand on Thia’s shoulder. “The Losrohir occupy the lands to the east. They are old beings, some say as old as time itself, made of song and earth.”
Thia nodded in thanks, though the woman’s explanation only left her with more questions.
Pagdan continued. “Before their borders closed, they gave a final parting gift to us mortals: a prophecy, one small beacon to see us through the darkness.” His voice took on a lilting quality.
“Born to the daughter of Nowhere and Everywhere, the Storm Crow shall come. A harbinger of war before the Tyrant’s reign undone.
” He paused. “So you see, the Storm Crow is an omen of sorts, the first drop in a tide that will remake the world.”
“We should tell everyone,” one of the elders said, a woman with white skin and light brown hair. “Our people could use good news.”
“No—please,” Thia interrupted. “Don’t.”
Six faces peered at her.
“I-I’m not what you think I am.”
“It’s possible,” the elder to the right of Pagdan said, and the room quieted. He was weathered, his eyes milky with age, curly hair a mix of black and white. “I have no word from Sothis,” he said, voice thin with the warble of years. “I only read what signs the stars convey.”
“Chara is a cleric,” Sorscha whispered. “One who has dedicated his life to the gods.”
The cleric continued. “This girl may not be the one we have waited for. But it is said that the Storm Crow will come from nowhere and yet belong to everywhere. She appears now from the sky, claiming to seek the Tyrant of her own volition.” He paused.
“That is a meeting I would be most intrigued to witness.”
“You can’t be serious,” another elder snapped. “She would be killed immediately. And our rebellion would be over before it had begun.”
Chara shook his head. “Perhaps, if she is not the Storm Crow. If she is, then Sothis will protect her.”
The brown-haired elder spoke again. “What good has Sothis done us? The prophecy does not promise that the Storm Crow shall live, only that it will set fate in motion.”
Silence met these words. Pagdan ran a thoughtful hand over his chin, and a few of the elders gazed at Thia with pity. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, feeling slightly nauseous.
“Thia should decide,” Pagdan said at last. He turned his attention to her. “If you are determined to seek the Tyrant, I will send you on your way with a guide. But I will not risk what few fighters we have, if you do not know what you are. If you do not intend to lead us to war.”
Thia gulped. That was certainly not her plan.
Pagdan looked her over, not unkindly. “I meant what I said last night. We could use your skills here. If you would rather stay, we would welcome you. Storm Crow or not.”
For all that Haven feared the Tyrant, Thia couldn’t understand why Callista would send her to him if her death was so certain. Or why Callista would send this message here, when she of all people knew that Thia was just a girl who had fallen through a portal.
Unless this was the sorceress’s way of helping, since she now had a guide at her disposal.
The memory of her grammy swam before her, her heavy-knuckled finger pressed against Thia’s picture on the fridge. Of Riley laughing, arm thrown over her shoulder to protect her face, which was elbow-height for some people, as they wandered the school halls.
She met Pagdan’s gaze. “I have to go home.”
Sorscha took a soft breath behind her, and Pagdan nodded solemnly.
“I understand. Give me a day to find you a guide.” He paused.
“This is a dangerous quest. I feel it is right that I should inform my people, so they do not make the decision lightly.” When Thia didn’t respond, he seemed to sense her confusion.
“I will need to tell them that you may be the Storm Crow.”
“Ah.”
“Otherwise you must make the journey alone.”
Thia’s sense of direction was bad at the best of times. She’d once gotten lost using Google Maps to get home from a café twenty minutes from her house. And if the n?gens were anything to go by, she didn’t want to know what else might lie between Black Forest and the Mage King.
“It’s fine,” she replied. “Tell them.” She had to hope no one would believe it.
Pagdan nodded once. “Tonight then. At the bonfire.”
When the fire was crackling pleasantly, sending billows of smoke up into the twilight sky, Thia sat on a log near the back of the gathering.
She’d picked the spot to keep hidden when Pagdan made his announcement.
Sorscha, sitting to her left, threw nervous glances her way every few seconds, which did nothing to calm Thia’s anxiety.
Her bowl of stew remained untouched in her lap, and her palms were damp with sweat as she ran them repeatedly down her thighs.
It felt like a millennium had passed by the time Pagdan stood and moved to the center of the circle.
A hush fell over the crowd. Pagdan cast his attention around the gathering, firelight warming his skin.
He cleared his throat. “There have been many rumors flying about this camp today.” He didn’t sound angry, but a few of those within sight of him ducked their heads. “It is time to put them to rest.”
Thia chewed her cheek. She didn’t think Pagdan knew where she was, because his gaze continued to wander.
“You know the prophecy of the Losrohir, how a Storm Crow shall appear to us. She who marks the beginning of an end to the Tyrant’s reign.”