Chapter 31 #5
“Why the hell do we do that without arming ourselves?” Sean asked, meeting each of their eyes.
Taken aback, Isobel laughed. “We don’t use weapons against humans, Sean. They’re innocent bystanders in all this.”
“Collateral damage,” Sean and David said at the same time.
“Some sacrifices are necessary in war,” Sean added.
A couple appeared through the mist behind them, so Kywyn urged him forward. “Let’s get back home, shall we?”
“I think we have some things to discuss,” Sean said to his father.
Kywyn shot a rueful smile at the forest floor. “You’re finally ready to hear it?”
“Yes. It’s time.”
Kywyn nodded and led them back to the Tree. They said nothing on the walk, giving minimal information to the Shaman, enough to make Nish happy, who was apparently displeased by David’s involvement in the whole thing.
It was mid-afternoon by the time they arrived. At the stairs, Autumn branched off toward their suite, her arm tight about David’s. “I’m going to take him to rest.”
“I’ll leave you both to talk.” Isobel placed a small kiss on Sean’s temple. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”
“You don’t want to come?”
She hesitated. “Talk it through with your father,” she said. “He’ll have a better outlook than me.”
Sean raised a brow.
“It’s not something I like to think about, Sean,” she said, gaze heavy.
Ah. Right.
The prediction of her death.
Why would she want to rehash that?
Once the lock snicked behind them in Kywyn’s quarters, Sean headed for his favorite sofa—the cozy one in the smallest sitting room—and collapsed.
Kywyn took the seat opposite. “What exactly are you hoping to learn?”
“I want to know why they call me Ashanta,” Sean said. “I mean…divine light? What is that?”
His father pitched forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “After Lhynion’s death, Kassandra was the one who spoke of a Savior who would follow in his footsteps, one who would save us from the brink of extinction.”
“Who was she?”
“The last oracle. Blessings from the Great Mother. They pop up every thousand years or so and eventually kill themselves because they can’t handle Seeing to the end of the world. She’s been gone centuries now.”
Yikes. Alright, then. “So she had a vision about me?”
“We call them Sendings.” Kywyn sighed as he pulled a book from a nearby desk, flipping to one of the middle pages.
“This is a copy of the Oracle’s Journal.
It’s…well, it’s our sacred text. An account of all the oracles who’ve ever existed.
Kassandra wasn’t very specific. I think she could See many different futures, and she wasn’t sure which of them would prevail.
But just after Lhynion died, this is what she wrote. ”
He offered the book, which Sean took with a trembling hand. The innocent Lux words were scripted the same as every other text, but as Sean read, his heart raced.
I fear a future which I’ve Seen, and though I’ve followed many paths, the end seems always the same desolation.
Lhynion Sidera is dead. Killed by his brother.
Manae commanded vengeance but, in so doing, has ceded his freedom, for I See he soon falls to the plague and, in taking him, steals our prosperity.
A great war will divide us. I See years of decline.
Centuries of yielding our power to Indigo.
The Great Mother, the Light, wanes under a web of deceptive tension brought by a single act of betrayal.
Desperate, Luxoria will place its faith in retributive lifeblood and will covet the fated daughter of Erdéa, reborn as an offering.
From here, I See many paths to follow but few in which another plague does not infect us.
There are paths of war. Paths of starvation.
Paths of horror. I See but one narrow path to liberty, and on it, the divine light shines, for a savior is born in the bound child of Sidera, immune to the plague and strengthened by immeasurable sacrifice.
We live or die by the grace of a willing martyr.
Sean read the passage four times before any of it sank in. It read like a fever dream. A hallucination.
The plague.
Savior.
Martyr.
The words echoed in his head, meaningless and frustrating. He took a moment to breathe through his rising temper. “What does it mean?”
A long exhale served as Kywyn’s answer, and Sean assumed that was all he’d get when his father abruptly stood.
“It makes no sense.” The older man paced the room. “Why would killing his brother as revenge make Galadaine vulnerable to the plague?”
Sean stared at the words, seeing a far different interpretation. The vengeance wasn’t killing his brother. It was forcing Meléan to make a blood oath she didn’t want to make.
“The plague is not a sickness,” Kywyn continued.
“It’s—it’s what we’ve always called this kind of treachery.
A disease of thought, disseminated by Galadaine.
He spread it wide—domination of an entire species as a viable course of healing.
It goes in direct opposition to what the Queen desires. Galadaine was a traitor.”
Except Galadaine hadn’t exactly seemed to be on Meléan’s side that day Lhynion died.
“And why does she say we’ve placed our faith in retributive lifeblood? I don’t even know what that means.”
It was Meléan’s blood oath, obviously, sworn under duress as retribution for causing Lhynion’s death. Still uncertain how to break the news of that particular misinterpretation of events, Sean chose to remain silent.
“The child of Sidera is you, clearly, but why does she say you’re bound? Does she mean to Isobel?”
Sean’s mind glided over the soul bond.
“And why are you immune to the plague? Unless the plague is something different in this context. Many think it’s David, as if he’ll resume Galadaine’s ideals and infect our realm with thoughts of war on Viterra. But…why would he do that?”
A great question.
“The martyr is thought to be Bel. That part, at least, seems simple enough. She will sacrifice herself for you, and in overcoming death, you will be strengthened.”
Nonplussed, Sean blinked. “Did no one ask her what it meant? She writes this cryptic, world-changing prophecy, and no one thought to say, Hey, could you clarify?”
“It’s told she would speak nothing more of it. She said the paths were too murky, too changing. She couldn’t say for certain which path we would follow.”
Sean stood. He’d never had a mercurial temperament, had always tried to be affable, even in the face of frustration, but this was too much.
With wild hand gestures and a steadily rising voice, he lost all shreds of restraint. “What the fuck is this?”
“Sean—”
“Why would you have a son when you knew this could happen? That this could be my fate?”
“I can’t control conception.”
Abruptly, Sean’s anger iced over, and his body went still in a way he couldn’t control. It was like his heightened emotions were too much for David, and the other man reached through their connection to snuff them out.
Sean’s voice dropped to that tone he recognized as David’s, all smooth lines with sharp edges. “No, but you could have kept your dick in your pants.”
Kywyn’s mouth opened, then shut. After a short sigh, his voice lowered. “I don’t have to justify wanting you, Sean. You’re the best choice I ever made.”
The ground beneath Sean’s feet turned to quicksand, and he took three deep breaths to calm the storm, to melt this ice that wanted to take control. If he struggled too much, fought too hard, he’d certainly drown in this.
“I—” His hand wrapped around his own throat, and his pulse slammed against his palm. “Am I meant to survive this?”
“Isobel is your saving grace, Sean.”
At the expense of her own life.
Something he couldn’t allow. Not in good conscience.
Sean cursed. His throat ached. He tried to swallow, but it went nowhere. Tremors started in his fingers and moved inward. His lungs expanded, but no air entered.
Or did it?
The breaths came too fast. Sparkles danced in his vision. Seconds or minutes or entire lifetimes passed while Sean disconnected from his body.
Arms wrapped around his shoulders, tight and unyielding. Dropping the book, Sean gripped his father like the man could tether him to the earth. To sanity.
His eyes burned. His insides were raw, washed with the acid of reality.
This wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t a mistake. This was real, and he wanted out.
Out. Out. Out.
“I can’t do this, Dad,” Sean whispered.
“You can.” Kywyn’s embrace tightened. “But you have to choose it.”
“This isn’t a choice.” Sean pushed out of his arms. “This was dictated before my birth. Mom—she tried to save me from this.”
Kywyn clasped his hands. “Your mother could not outrun fate.”
Sean’s throat wanted to close. She’d tried to save him, and she’d died for it. No matter how he looked at it, her death was his fault.
His father’s calm voice cut through his guilt. “This is a prediction, Sean, but the choices you make are still yours. Even those who see the future can’t pretend to understand it.”
Sean’s heart rate had calmed, but the edgy need to move hadn’t receded. He continued to pace through the room. “My life doesn’t belong to me. My whole existence is a gamble. One narrow path to liberty, she said, and I’m supposed to find it? The road between war and starvation?”
After a small pause, Kywyn stepped closer, setting a calming hand on his shoulder.
“Only you can choose what you view your life through. Do you choose the window, the prism, or the mirror? One shows you the whole world as it is. One distorts that world and smears it into individual parts, maybe a little easier to understand. The last only looks backward and ignores everything on the other side.”
A bitter chuckle rose in Sean’s throat. “Are you saying I’m the mirror?”
The trace of a smile lit Kywyn’s eyes. “Take some time to process, Sean.”
Process. Was there any processing this?
The people of this realm looked at him with undisguised adoration. They thought him a messiah, the descendant of a saint. They saw something in him that didn’t exist, and he’d never live up to the idol in their heads.