Song Of The Aura: Grym Prophet Part 8

"A wise decision." Blast! I apologize, Master. I forgot that you can see my thoughts. "The innkeeper is one of the Aura." No! "Yes. He is none other than the Aura of Nymphs, Lord of the Rangers and one of my greatest enemies. You know we fight the Aura, Gramling, but do you know why?"

No. Gramling merely thought it- he knew his master wouldn't need to hear.

"Come," The Golden One said, and shadows wrapped them in an unshakeable grip.

Chapter Eleven: And So It Began.

Lauro was so angry- at Elia, at himself, at the mysterious innkeeper- that he could only think of one thing: flying. He had discovered the inn's strange effect on his powers when he had first come here. The wind currents that he could always see were no longer visible, and it had not taken him long to find out why.

A mile or so of desperate fleeing, and the colorful currents returned. Lauro felt a coolness settle on his mind, as it always did when he was in touch with his gifts; but he quashed it in the furnace of his anger, Wind Striding with powerful kicks of his feet to lift himself into the air. In the nighttime sky, he navigated more by feeling than sight. The wind caressed his face, and he returned its touch. The currents around him were his muscles and bones, his flesh and blood.

On and on he flew, almost swimming through the air, his whole body in cooperation with the movements of the sky. Suddenly, a great inky darkness exploded on his vision, confusing the wind currents and dispersing his power. Before he could react, the prince flew right through it.

"Gah!" he choked, coughing and sputtering as his powers flickered and he dropped lower, out of the black mess of something. "Smoke!"

Smoke. He'd flown through smoke. What in Vast?

More of it was coming. Cloud upon cloud of coal-stained smoke wafted up towards him. He dodged some of it, but most of it hit him full on. There was no resistance when his body met it, but where it floated the wind seemed to die, even as it carried the smoke higher and higher...

With a m.u.f.fled yell, Lauro realized he was falling faster than he could stop amidst all the smoke. A great blot of it curled up all around him, and he shut his watering eyes to stop them from burning. A frantic second of silent falling, then he was out of the cloud, Wind Striding frantically to stop his fall.

A dark metal shape like a tall pillar loomed up in front of him, leaning slightly to one side and belching volumes of coal-smoke from its open top. Cursing, Lauro struck out in front of him with his palms, then raked his hands to either side in a b.r.e.a.s.t.stroke. Wind rushed under his arms and lifted him out of harm's way, allowing him to pa.s.s just over the strange object.

Another, smaller pipe pa.s.sed below him, and he flew nimbly to one side to avoid the billowing smoke. His eyes still stinging from the fumes, he dipped down and to the side, zigzagging to avoid whatever mysterious enemy was a.s.sailing him. Random, confusing sounds a.s.saulted his ears: rus.h.i.+ng water, creaking hinges, crackling flames, and turning gears. By the time his eyes were entirely clear again, he was mere feet away from slamming into the ground.

Lauro flung out his hands, cus.h.i.+oning what could have been a fatal crash with a well-placed gust of air.

It still hurt. Rocks and dirt bit at his body as he slammed into the ground and rolled for several yards. When he had finally stopped tumbling, the prince scrambled to his feet, fists clenched and ready to blast his enemy with a wall of wind.

But there was no enemy- at least not immediately. Lauro stumbled back in awe, his guard dropping entirely as his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. He had landed on the bank of the deep, wide river that had run parallel to the old Grymclaw road. The night sky above the running water was entirely blocked by six gargantuan shapes.

They were wars.h.i.+ps of a kind he had never seen before. They were huge, squat, and built of metal, like enormous armored toads with elongated bodies, straddling the snaky river. There were no masts, sails, or oars to be seen; just long, tilted smokestacks that looked as if they belonged in a Vastic forge, and giant turning gears that grunted and sent sparks flying at varying intervals as they ground together in an endless song of chaos.

Lord of the Four Winds, Lauro prayed inside, deliver us all! What h.e.l.lish forge had given birth to these monstrous things? And why were they here? Were they coming for him? Were they from his father?

Inside, of course, he knew the answer to at least the last question. No... King Larion wouldn't waste such weapons on me. These are far more powerful s.h.i.+ps than he has. If they were Vastion's, they wouldn't be here looking for me- they'd be fighting the pirate lords in the south.

That was a thought. Could these things be under a pirate flag? He had heard some of the names of the southern pirate lords, for they had always been a thorn in his father's side. But this looked too deserted, too sober for a pirate's vessel... and besides, it flew no flag.

Lauro crouched down low and crept closer to the edge of the riverbank, hoping for a clearer view. Curse this overcast night, and doubly curse this blasted smoke! Suddenly, movement on the deck of the strange s.h.i.+p caught his eye. The next moment, he was infinitely glad for the darkness he had just cursed.

A tall, black-clad form moved to the very back of the s.h.i.+p as it pa.s.sed Lauro's hiding spot, chugging upstream with a m.u.f.fled cacophony of mechanical noises. He could almost make out the face... but not quite. If only a little wind would come along...

A dangerous idea began to root itself in the prince's brain. Leaning down and lying flat on the bank of the river, he tried to make himself as invisible as possible. Then, stretching out one hand, he made a swift flicking motion with one hand.

The breeze began at his elbow, twisting and curling around his forearm until it reached his hand, where it grew until it burst from his palm with an almost-inaudible whoosh.

Several tense seconds pa.s.sed. The metal s.h.i.+p was almost out of sight in the shadows.

Suddenly the breeze reached the dark figure in the stern, catching his hood and pus.h.i.+ng it back as naturally as a normal gust of wind. Then the night closed in around the smoke-spewing vessel, and it was lost to sight.

Lauro stayed where he was for another minute, his heart pounding and his pulse racing.

He had seen the face of the Pit Strider.

Something in his heart snapped. Not apart, though, rather... it seemed that something had snapped back into place.

The Pit Strider was heading towards the Swaying Willow with six s.h.i.+ps of unprecedented might, with Creator-knows-what kind of enemies aboard, the Pit Strider himself excluded. Whatever he felt about Gribly, and however the idiots he'd once called his friends had mistreated him, he still owed them a warning.

Blast. Duty was hard.

As soon as he was sure that the mysterious fleet had gone far enough upriver that he would not be spotted, Lauro leaped to his feet with the intention of flying back to warn his friends at the inn.

Backing up a few steps, the prince took a running leap forward, out into the air over the steep bank of the river. Wind Striding kept him afloat, and he began to cross the open distance in a succession of rapid leaps from wind current to wind current.

About halfway across, the impossible happened.

He leaped higher than ever before, ready to ascend into the night sky, but a curious wetness soaked his ankle one moment, and the next he was ripped from the air and pulled towards the surface of the river with astonis.h.i.+ng force. With a frantic glance down at himself, Lauro found that a dripping tentacle of ever-flowing water had reached out of the river and seized him by the leg.

"Off of me!" he yelled, but the water kept pulling on him, enchanted or controlled by something far more powerful than he. His grip on the element of the wind loosened, then fell apart, sending him cras.h.i.+ng into the river with a loud splas.h.!.+

The liquid closed over his head like the door of a prison cell, as the tentacle of water drew him deeper and deeper into the depths of the river. The flow battered him from side to side, but he was held in place too tightly to be swept away. Frantically clawing and kicking, the prince attempted to swim away, but to no avail.

Sleep, a voice in his head told him. It is almost over. Let yourself sink into me...

"No!!!!" he screamed, and the river rushed in to fill his lungs and choke him.

Sleep, the voice repeated.

And finally, he did.

Even without his Sand Striding abilities, it was easy as anything for Gribly to sneak past the b.u.mbling Haedi who worked in the inn stables. Within an hour of his encounter with the Pit Strider, he was hidden in the hayloft above the horse stalls. They weren't just for horses, though; they were for every conceivable mount on the face of the world- and quite a few that he had never conceived of before at all.

Something had driven him to go there. A tiredness he had never felt before a.s.saulted his limbs and body, weighing him down to the point where his thoughts were entirely occupied with finding a comfortable place to drop on his face and fall into the deepest slumber of his life.

And he did.

Chapter Twelve: Forest of Foretelling.

Gribly stumbled out of the trees into a gra.s.sy, twilit dell with a single mighty tree in its center. His journey through the forest had been surreal and invigorating, and his desire for sleep was gone. He cared not that he was probably in a dream anyway, nor that in the waking world he was probably on the edge of yet another failure. None of it mattered anymore; just the quiet sweetness of the dell and the hidden majesty of the elusive being who had called him here.

There, seated on a throne made of the tree itself, was the one who had called him. It was a being of light and spirit like he had never seen before, and beside him sat...

Elia? Lauro? He couldn't decide which, and his mind felt incapable of focusing enough to figure it out.

No... it wasn't either of them- it was both. They were both here, in the dreamworld he couldn't understand.

Elia was up, running for him, wrapping her arms around him... suddenly his mind was crystal clear.

"Gribly," she whispered, "we've done it! We've found the Aura! We've found Wanderwillow!"

Whether or not this place was part of the physical world, Gribly soon realized it could be nothing less than completely, utterly real. In the ensuing period of time- he could never be sure afterwards whether it was a minute, an hour, or a lifetime- he was greeted warmly by Wanderwillow, and somewhat less warmly by Lauro. Then, when the introductions had pa.s.sed, all three were seated at the foot of the throne, listening to Wanderwillow speak. It seemed the Aura had known all along who they were and what their mission was. But, as he explained: "It was not yet the proper time to act. The agent of Blood and Shadow was still at that time nearby. It was necessary to allow him to leave first, and to let him believe himself to have escaped, before I brought you three hither."

That didn't sound very explanatory to Gribly.

"We have a lot of things to ask you about," he said.

"Indeed," agreed Wanderwillow, placing his rough, large hands carefully in his sleeves like some kind of cleric or monk. "And what is it that you would like to know?"

"What it means to be a prophet! What am I supposed to do with my life?" cried Gribly, but the other two answered just as quickly and just as loud.

"Why did my family have to die?" Elia suddenly sobbed.

"How do I prove to my father that I'm not a coward?" Lauro burst at the same time.

Utter silence fell. The three young Striders looked at each other in shock, as if speaking their deepest desires and thoughts aloud had suddenly allowed them to see each other clearly for the first time.

"Well," Wanderwillow said, nodding wisely, "I thought as much."

Gribly held his breath, heart pounding, waiting for an answer. Elia and Lauro followed his example, but the Aura's only response was to stretch his hands out towards them.

Suddenly the luminous being was holding a book, bound with soft gray leather and very, very old. "This," he said solemnly, "is for the one of you Destined to Lead."

No one moved. Gribly froze stiff, enamored with the object, so intent on what it could possibly mean that he failed to notice Lauro reach for it.

"If anyone is going to lead one day," the prince said importantly, "it will be me."

Sitting straighter, he put his hand out for the book, but Wanderwillow shook his head and moved it out of his reach. A look of rage crossed the prince's face, but it quickly melted into a sort of pained remorse.

"I see... the world seems entirely intent on causing me to learn humility in the most painful ways. Well, then, Elia... go on. Take it. He obviously means you, since you're the last of the Treele."

Wanderwillow raised an eyebrow. Elia sighed.

"I don't think he means me, Lauro. You don't, do you, O Nympharch? You mean Gribly, don't you?"

The thief snapped his back straight, a thrill of fear shooting up his body and out into his arms and neck. Him? A leader? What was this all about?

"You are wise before your time, Halanyad," said the Aura. Why did he call her that? Gribly wondered, but he was distracted by Wanderwillow offering him the gray book.

Offering him the book!

"Th-thank you, O Wise Aura," Gribly stammered, standing and bowing before relieving Wanderwillow of the ancient tome. His attempt to imitate Elia's refined way of speech felt like an insulting failure, but the Aura smiled nevertheless.

"You may regret thanking me when you are done with it. Now... there is little time for explaining, for your next and greatest test is almost at hand. I need you to learn what you can from this book before the sun rises in the world of men and nymphs once more."

"He can't read," snorted Lauro from the background, but Gribly was too caught up in the golden-yellow eyes of the Aura to notice.

"Y-yes, Master Aura," he answered, bowing low again.

"Now go. Enter the forest once more, just the way you came. Walk on until you come to a brook that runs in the open sky. There you may open this book and gain whatever knowledge it possesses for you to glean. I make no guarantees that it is what you wish for, nor that it will make you happy. It is only what you are meant to know."

Shaking nervously and excitedly, Gribly bowed for a third and final time, then turned and almost ran out of the clearing.

A quarter mile or so into the depths of the mystical forest, he came upon the stream the Wanderwillow had indicated. Seating himself at the base of a weeping willow that stretched out to dip its fronds in the happily bubbling water, he opened the aged volume on his crossed legs.

He'd expected parchment such as was used in Ymeer; yellowed and dusty, like the scrolls of lore that he had once pilfered to sell on the black market... He chuckled at that memory, but soon became serious. This book was not made of parchment, but vellum: stronger, more pliable, and softer to the touch.

The pages were covered from top to bottom, on either side, in dark black ink. Gribly sighed. He'd hoped the Aura had known what he was doing when he gave the book to him... filling it with pictures, perhaps, or something else he would understand. Lauro had been right, he could barely read at all, and these runes were completely alien to him.

Suddenly tired again, Gribly let his head sink forward until it touched the ink of the first letter of the first page.

In an instant, EVERYTHING CHANGED.

There was a babe born on a cold night in a forgotten chapel on the edge of the land. He was a healthy boy, with wisps of flaxen hair on his little round head that formed a halo of youth over his plump features. His mother was a maiden most beautiful, in the prime of her womanhood, with hair as white as snow and lips as red as blood. Her eyes were blue and her skin as pale as moonlight.

Over her, giving courage to her as she gave birth to her son, was that son's father and her husband: a man of proud, handsome features some years older than she, with hair as golden as the sun itself, long and straight. He wore no beard, but his strength and ferocity were unquestioned by all who knew him.

It was he who helped his wife give birth to her child; it was he who delivered the boy and gave him to his mother to cradle in her arms.

"Gramling," she whispered sweetly, rocking the babe and cooing to it softly. Then the pains wracked her again, and more violent than before. Her husband quickly took the child and handed it to a man in a gray cloak who stood behind him.

It was Traveller. He glanced up, aware of the one who witnessed his story so far in the future, and his eyes spoke words his mouth had never said.

Watch, Prophet, they said, And learn from whence you came.