Paths of Prophecy

BOOK 1 OF THE CHRONICLES OF TORGEIR

She need not have bothered.

Pain enveloped her, filling her with hatred. Hatred for the empire and all that it was. Hatred for the soldiers who’d left her to die. She shivered, though not from the crisp winter breeze. The stench of death was everywhere.

Endless minutes passed before the pain receded to almost bearable. Vision still hazy, she lifted a shaking hand to her face and flinched at what she felt. One eye had swollen shut, her nose lay flattened against her cheek, and occasionally her lip, split open to her chin, whistled when she breathed, her skin a violent medley of purples and yellows.

Next to their shattered cart, her father lay unmoving in a pool of blood. Memories of his torment boiled in her mind. They’d ripped off his fingernails, made him cut off his own toes and then his fingers, flayed wide swaths of skin. His screams had lasted hours. At least, that’s how it had felt.

The memories filled her with fresh pain over the terrible things the soldiers had done to her—the things they’d forced her to do. A blurry shape caught her eye. Between the throbs of pain, the shape took form and she thought she might cry, if only she knew how. There, amidst the wreckage of their cart, her doll Amelle, the other gift Mother had given her just before they’d headed out.

Makayla tried to stand, but barely managed to get a foot underneath her before she was crushed by overwhelming pain. She vomited blood, covering her naked chest with a fresh sheen of crimson. It warmed her for only a moment before the chill of winter set in. She steeled herself for another attempt to rise, fighting through the pain, accepting it and finally welcoming it. Every stab was a reminder of what they had done, every twinge fuel for her growing contempt. Not that she could ever forget, even if she wanted to.

She managed to get to her knees. Her head swam and threatened to topple her, but she refused to give in, pushing herself erect. She did not realize she was falling until her already shattered chin smashed to the ground. Bright flashes of red and white flooded her vision as a sharp, radiating throb seared through her face.

The sun had already begun to set, splashing the sky with colors she had once thought beautiful. But beauty no longer existed. She passed her tongue over swollen lips and empty gums, finding craters where her teeth had been. The soldiers had taken her beauty as violently as they had taken her father’s life.

They had left her with nothing, not even her dignity.

Take it back.

She laughed, the sound bitter to her ears. Was she hearing voices now? They had taken her dignity and destroyed her body—had they ruined her mind as well?

Take it all back.

The voice was at the same time both hers and not. How could this be? No, she decided. This was real. As real as the pain. “How?” she demanded, her voice thick and raspy. “How do I take them back? I can barely manage to stand.”

And yet you will manage so much more.

“I just want to go home.” Pegrans was only a few miles away, but in her condition it might as well be on the other side of the kingdom. Only a few minutes of light remained, so her trip home would have to wait until the morrow. She would use what was left of the cart to shelter against the wind.

Making her way back was difficult, each step agony. The sergeant had killed her father’s horse, Spinner. Another mercy, he had called it before cleaving his axe through the beast’s neck.

The ground suddenly opened beneath her. She grabbed desperately at loose roots and dried clumps of grass as she fell. Wind rushed past her ears and when she landed, her leg broke with a sickening snap.

When Makayla awoke, it was dark. The hole she had fallen through was high above, and through it, tiny stars winked as though mocking her. A single shaft of moonlight pierced the replete darkness through the hole, illuminating what little remained of her dress. Her chest crackled as it heaved with panic. Then her world ignited with pain.

She opened her eyes again, unsure how long she’d blacked out this time. Her entire body ached and throbbed in rhythm to her heartbeat, and her broken leg sent sharp pangs with every movement. Only a small patch of stars twinkled through the hole. High above her, the sound of crickets teased her with chirps of freedom.

A new fear prodded through her torment. She was alone. No one knew to look for her, and it would be a week before her mother and brother missed her. She held herself, cold and alone in the darkness. She blubbered an uncontrollable sob.

“Mama!” she cried into the void, craving her mother’s arms. She yearned for her mother to cradle her in her lap and hum a soothing tune. “Mama… I need you…”

Her voice died in the damp musty air, leaving her with the echoing sound of distant drips.

The rhythmic echo of the water nipped at her thoughts…

Drip-drip…drip.

…chasing them away…

Drip-drip…drip.

…until her head was clear.

A twinkling light caught her attention. It seemed impossibly distant, like a single star in an impossibly black sky, as though the cave itself fed into oblivion. Was her mind playing tricks on her? The light continued to pulse, its call sweet and promising.

Her arms moved as if of their own accord, pulling her across the jagged ground despite her broken body. Pain consumed her consciousness more than once, and each time she awoke, the light renewed her determination. Reaching it was all that mattered. It was all she had. She wasn’t sure how long she crawled—a minute, an hour, a day. The light was no longer dim and distant but a tiny orb of brilliance as bright as the noon sun.

The air around her seemed different now, crisp and fresh, the ground smooth like glass but unreflecting and so black it made the darkness of the cave seem bright.

As she approached, she saw the light emanated from a dome no taller than she. Its surface swirled like a liquid cloud, and at its center was a sphere of purest white. Four statues made of the same light-absorbing stone as the floor surrounded the dome: a Boorde, Prytha, human, and an odd creature she had never seen. It was scaled and shorter than the others, with an almost reptilian face and hair along its back. A fifth statue stood head and shoulders above the others, but where the four other statues seemed alive in their detail, the fifth bore nothing more than feminine curves.

Makayla found herself humming one of the Hymns of Tolrik her mother would sing at bedtime.

Break free, Oh Light, thy power divine.

In me, Oh Light, thy will to mine.

Break free, Oh Light, imperial chains.

With me, Oh Light, my people remain.

Inside the dome, the shining orb seemed to stir, awakened by her voice as though pleading for release. Makayla scrambled forward, letting her leg drag behind her. The orb must be the Light from the Hymns! The imprisoned Light of prophecy, waiting for someone to break it free! She reached the dome and touched its surface.

A cacophony of voices flooded her mind: Feeding flesh, virulent flesh… Suck the marrow, taste the bone… Dark light, evil day… My light, your light… The light of truth, the light of lies…

She jerked her hand back and the voices stopped. The faceless statue turned to regard her, a tear frozen on its cheek.

A loud snap startled her as a deep crack snaked across the dome. The trapped light swelled, pressing against its prison until the dome shattered with her touch. Freed from its prison, the light hovered for a moment, then slammed into the faceless statue, soaking into its head.

Thank you, it said when it had absorbed the last sparkle. The statue’s head bulged, leaking twinkles of its bright prisoner until it exploded in a violent shower of sparks. Where the statue’s head had been, a swirling ball of pure-white light remained.

Makayla reached toward the light and the swirling sphere shot into her chest.

Power as ancient as time permeated her being. Each bone in her body, every sinew and fiber burned from the light. It whispered to her, beautiful music that sung of vengeance and glory. Knowledge and understanding boiled within her, even as her skin peeled away, revealing new, healthy skin underneath. Bones popped and cracked as they shifted back into place. Her agony echoed throughout the chamber.

When she could open her eyes, she found she couldn’t see any better in the darkness. Although it seemed less dark somehow. She flexed her hands and stretched, testing her body. She could stand, walk, and even sprint. Not so much as a scratch marred her skin. Deep inside, residing in that place where her soul lay, was the ancient power, a warm forge of endless potential, waiting for release. She held out a hand. Crisp light danced above it.

She willed the light to rise above her and brighten. She gasped at what she saw. The top of the dome had shattered open, the once proud statues melted to formless heaps as if by some terrible heat, the ground underneath scorched and ruined. Yet the floor was white. Impossibly so, reflecting her light so well she lost all sense of depth.

The power swelled inside her, dredging up thoughts of her father. She shied at first, reluctant to revisit those memories so soon.

But you’re no longer that helpless little girl. The voice again, both her own and not. Something vast and ancient, beyond her comprehension.

She knew her heart would always ache for her father; for what the imperials had done to him as they forced her to watch; for the way they drew out his death, working each agonizing scream. At least he didn’t have to witness what they’d done to her.

It was a shame he wouldn’t be able to see what she would do to them.