Prophecy's Promise (Prophecy of the Edges Book 1) (18 page)

Maybe then I would be a worthy match for Altis. Perhaps Queen Mauzaca would allow us to marry. Altis, the baby and I could be a family. Or if not, Adine had promised me a university of my own in Dybreakea. I could shape the scholars of a new country and my child could live in peace.

The Prophecy was my path, and I was ready to step up and figure out how to fix the broken world. First steps: I needed to determine how to navigate this world and their asinine “protocols.”

I was brought dinner but didn’t feel like eating. Instead, I decided to go to sleep without any.

The bed, although of a different design than I had seen, was basically the same. I guess that some things are hard to improve upon. I pulled my two daggers from my boots that I’d discarded by the tub and placed them both under my pillow. I didn’t have Altis here to protect me. I didn’t have anybody. I had next to no faith in the “guards” Bahlym promised to post outside my door. Who was I to them? I was utterly alone and only had myself to rely on.

I took the locket off and opened it. Did Altis think I was dead or would he open his own locket and realize that, impossibly, I was in another world? I saw Altis, lying on his sleep pad, eyes wide open staring at the fabric roof of his tent. Alone like I was. I
knew
him. I knew that he’d not opened his locket to see my image. He thought I was dead. By the Guardians, I missed him. It was the worst possible parting. But, no matter how much I missed him, he was promised to another woman. Not just another woman.  He was promised to a
princess
. We would never be a family. Hot tears ran down my face and onto my pillow. I put the locket next to me, wishing that it was Altis and not his image that shared my bed.

I did not find sleep.

Eventually, through my thick curtains, I could see that the sun was up, but I wanted to hide in bed. Maybe I would wake up and it would all be a dream. I heard a knock at the outer door, which was several rooms away. I pulled the blankets around myself and yelled to come in, even though I realized that the servant was unlikely to speak Cuneiform, so I opened the door. The servant rolled in several boxes and opened them each in turn. Each held a more unusual outfit than the one before. “Do you know which of these I should wear today?” I asked the servant who looked blankly at me. The dresses seemed too short to be appropriate to wear in public. I selected the longest of the dresses, a deep red color, which still only fell to barely past my knees.

I followed the servant from my rooms down the hallways, down the elevator, and to a private parlor where Bahlym was waiting for me. “Ah, good.” He rose to his feet as I entered the room. “Just in time. There’s a locomobile outside waiting to take us to the Flight Field, but we will need to go out the back way. Word has gotten out that you are in town, and there is no good way to secure the front. It’s safer out the back.”

“The exit we use makes no difference to me.”

We walked through the kitchens. I’d been to the kitchen at Meena’s house and in the castle many times. While meals were being prepared, they were places of controlled chaos. Dishes cast aside waiting to be cleaned, pots bubbling, and servants drinking mead, grabbing their chance to eat before the start of their nightly duties. In contrast, this kitchen shone. All the surfaces were as shiny as the beams of the building. Pots bubbled in straight lines like soldiers awaiting orders. No servants were eating here. Everyone here was rushing around tending the plates and pots, washing the dirty ones as soon as they were no longer needed.

We continued on to a stable for the locomobiles. Thankfully, these walls were built of stone and not more steel. As these were not animals, they had no need for stalls or attendants. Instead, they were lined up like the pots had been. Each inanimately awaited their orders.

Two men jumped out from behind a column. One holding a very small stick with a ball on the top popped out. The other held a box over his shoulder “We mean you no harm,” the man with the little stick said in Cuneiform. “We were hoping to get a few words for our broadcast.” A soft, static buzz emitted from their devices. He pointed the bulbous end of the stick into Bahlym’s face.

“No comment,” Bahlym said as he pulled my arm to continue moving. “It is not live,” he hissed in warning. But I pulled back and smiled into the box. The man thrust the fluffy ball toward my face. I understood that I was to speak into it.

“Good morning to the Empire. May the Guardians watch over each of you. I am Ambassador Hailey Troubade of Gryshelm, sent by Queen Leona Mauzaca to Heal Gryshelm’s Edge. I’m calling the Edge that divides my Slice from yours Gryshelm’s Edge because it’s the Edge of Gryshelm. I used to call it The Edge before I knew there were five others.” I was rambling.  I took a deep breath. “Regardless, I look forward to working with your Slice to accomplish this and remove Gryshelm’s Edge.”

The man pulled the ball back toward his own face. “Gryshelm’s Edge. Catchy. I like it. But, is it true that you do not believe yourself to be the Promise and cannot even read the book?”

“I’m the only one who can see the letters. I’ve no doubt that, given the right teacher, I will be able to read this book. As for being the Promise…”

Before I could finish my sentence, I was distracted by a large static hum of Channeled Mist. But this felt different. It crackled with the same burning malice of a lighting ball. I pulled the Mist to myself and bundled it around the source of the malice Mist. I heard a pop like a roasted chestnut.

Several of the guards began shouting and pointing at the object. Many, including the cameraman, prostrated themselves before me.

Bahlym ran over and picked up the object. “Did anyone see who put this here?” he demanded, angrily. “If not for the Promise we would all be dead.”

He pulled me by my arm through the rest of the stables half running to get to our own locomobile.

We zoomed down glass-smooth roads a hundred times faster than the fastest racehorse I had ever seen, arriving at the Flight Field, a distance that should have taken hours, in less than fifteen minutes. I focused toward the horizon as best I could and didn’t feel any loco-sickness this time. As unnerving as my two rides in the locomobiles had been, the flight carriage was much scarier. A gigantic and ornately carved wooden box, a hundred yards long, was dwarfed by the enormous beige oval balloon above that bulged around the ropes holding it to the ground. Bahlym ushered me to a chair by a window inside the wooden box and helped me fasten a safety harness across my lap. “It won’t be long,” Bahlym assured me as he settled into a seat facing mine.

I gripped the leather armrests as the flight carriage ascended into the sky. The grass field grew tinier and tinier as we gained altitude. The people became ant-size and then too small to notice. Bahlym coaxed me into conversation. Talking helped keep my mind off the unnatural method of travel.

For over an hour, we swapped stories of our worlds. I enlightened Bahlym with a brief overview of the history and customs of my land. In turn, I learned that their Slice was smaller than mine from a landmass perspective, but not by much. They were one united Empire ruled by a Council elected from among the upper class, all of whom had military titles and basic Warrior training. While only a few had military roles, all the leaders were technically in the military. The Council itself was governed in part by a general. A position appointed by the Council, and once selected, you served for life.

And he told me about all their Mist-Channeled devices. The energy was from converted Mist Power. Factories lined with row after row of workers wove the Mist into little boxes which would then be used to control machines. They’d taken the concept of Mist Fortification and extended it exponentially. I wondered who had been that first Scholar to discover that Mist could be harnessed this way.

Uniting these two cultures surly would be amazing. Those in our culture without Mist Ability could purchase the Mist Power, and in turn, we could trade with them our art and textiles. And this was only two of six Slices. There are four more Slices full of surprises and different people out there waiting to be discovered. We could take the best of each world and form a new society: a global, united culture.

As we spoke, the pockets of population we passed began to get thicker and more frequent. Bahlym patiently explained the purpose of everything within sight. Over the horizon, I could see spikes of buildings stretching toward the sky. Bahlym said that there were as many as one hundred levels on top of each other. It made the impressive towers of the castle back home seem like trinkets a child had erected. Clumps of people congregated in green spaces and on intersections, but far more raced down the pin-straight streets, some on foot, others in locomobiles that followed one after another like a disconnected but interrelated chains. The city practically throbbed with energy.

Bahlym’s audible buzzed in his pocket and he picked it up. He spoke to the co-driver who turned on a small flat box. I wondered if it would be harder to learn their language or the names of all these Mist-Channeled devices. “It’s called a ‘broadcastible.’” A picture made of light flashed on the front of the box.

“Hey! That’s me!” I exclaimed.

Then it showed the reporter who had stopped us in the locomobile stables asking me about being unable to read the book and not knowing if I was the Promise. My picture on the screen said, “It is true,” and then it showed me running away being dragged by Bahlym.

“That’s not what happened at all!” I declared, outraged. “There was more.”

“I told you that it wasn’t live, but you wouldn’t listen. They cut out the bits they wanted. You can’t talk anytime someone shoves a micro audible in your face.” Bahlym sighed. “I will speak with my father after this. Maybe he can make them play the whole thing, but a lot of damage has already been done.”

The flight carriage landed on the flat top of one of the buildings, right in front of a glass building stuffed with greenery. Back home, our roofs were slanted and thus obviously never had any additional structures built on top. I hopped from the flight carriage, relieved to be on some semblance of ground.

Bahlym motioned to the glass building. “We are to meet them in the rooftop greenhouse.” When I opened the glass door, summer-warm air blew against me. I removed my jacket, folding it over my arm. Before me, inside the greenhouse, sprawled a garden complete with benches and trees bursting with tiny pink flowers. A handful of men waited beneath the trees. They all wore the same sash as Bahlym, and for the first time, it appeared that a few of them had more trinkets than Bahlym. One man in particular wore a sash that seemed unable to hold another gem.

“Welcome!” the man said, walking over to us. He was only a little shorter than Bahlym. Silver hairs were interspersed with light brown ones, especially around the temples, but he didn’t appear much over forty. “I am General Kadir Hamrham Zirban.”

I bowed deeply as I would to any king.

“How quaint. A bow instead of a curtsy.” Kadir smirked.

“Traditions are different in our cultures.” I curtsied. “I will do my best to adhere to the ones that make sense.”

“And she addresses me openly?” Kadir said, his voice sounded shocked and offended.

“Why request a private audience if you expected me to be mute? An ambassador speaks on her regent’s behalf.”

“I only wished to see the Promise before the Council does and to greet you as I would expect to greet any civilized lady,” he responded. “And now I have.” He left and the other men trailed after him. I stood there, mouth open, trying to understand exactly how I was uncivilized.

“You shouldn’t have spoken.” Bahlym chastised me gently. “You will get used to it.”

“Doubtful,” I said. “I don’t understand how I can be an ambassador or much of anything if your customs require that I remain speechless.”

“That’s Adara’s challenge. And while I agree with you, we need to take small steps or we will get nowhere.”

“But why did he want to meet with me if I was to remain mute?”

“He’s an opportunist, reflecting the opinions of those he thinks will propel him the furthest. That’s what makes him dangerous. If the Council accepts you, he can declare he did as well during your private audience or that he suggested the words to use. If they do not, he’ll cast you aside like a moldy piece of cheese.”

“Piece of cheese? That’s an odd analogy.”

Bahlym didn’t reply. He ushered me from the rooftop garden and through a different door than the one the general had used. We marched down several flights of stairs and exited the stairwell into a long hallway flanked by wooden benches. Men rushed back and forth, busily completing their duties. Bahlym pointed to a spot on the bench and bade me to wait. “I’ll be back when it’s your turn to address the Council.”

I settled onto one of the benches, crossing my legs. The short dress hovered around my knees. I tried to pull it down, but no amount of tugging would cause additional fabric to appear. Men scurried through the hallway, on some task or another. Each observed me for a moment with varying degrees of disgust. Admittedly, I’d not been exposed to a sufficiently large set of people in the Empire, but, other than Bahlym, I had no evidence to conclude anything other than that they were all awful, shortsighted people.

Eventually, Bahlym emerged and motioned for me to follow him into the Council room. We entered at the front. Rows of stadium seats arranged similarly to the Keep’s larger lecture halls filled the immense room. The familiarity of the arrangement helped me to breathe a little easier. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the Council,” I began, before realizing that I was the only woman in the room. At least the Empire’s guidelines were consistent in their bigotry. With each injustice, I was having a harder time controlling my urge to Channel my Mist tainted by what I was beginning to assume was Azabin’s anger.

Releasing a fiery torrent of righteousness would not be productive, only therapeutic for my mood, so I held it in and continued on. “I have been sent to heal our world. I am the Prophecy’s Promise.” A murmur went through the room. “My world has forgotten the Promise, so I am unprepared, but I have been Promised so the Mist will make us ready.”

I told them of my Apparition. Of Shezdon. Of the journey. Of the capture. Of my world so different from their own. Finally, I finished and stood awkwardly in front of them.

Silence reigned for a few moments while everyone digested my information. After a long pause, a man stood up and spoke into his little stick that looked nearly identical to the micro audible that reporter had made me speak into. “The religious had predicted a young mother, but that does not mean she can heal The Edges.”

I raised my nose higher and stood. Anger filling me. “I am not unequipped.”

“Why is this harlot allowed to argue with me?” he demanded.

Another man stood up. “The Protocol has been met. The girl from across our Edge has addressed the Council. But we have other customs to uphold and there is a woman in this Council room, directly addressing its members. It’s unacceptable.”

The general leaned over his micro audible. “We have already trampled upon our traditions enough for one day. We shouldn’t suffer a woman in this room any longer.”

Bahlym grasped my elbow. “We better leave. You say you are a Warrior. Pick your battles.”

“That’s ridiculous! “ I hissed to Bahlym as he pulled me from the room.

“This is how our world is. I warned you.”

“And to think I thought this culture was more advanced.”

“I have an idea.” Bahlym smiled, the same sort of smile Meena would have before concocting some crazy scheme. “Challenge one of them to a duel, if you think you can win. You are a Warrior and your command over the Mist rivals that of anyone in that room. That would put an end to this. Technically, you’d even have the right to take his spot on the Council.”

My hand fluttered absent-mindedly to my stomach.

“You’ll have to fight much worse than any of those men if you are the Promised. And if you aren’t the Promised, then your child must be, so logic would assume that both of you will be safe.”

“I’m sure there is some rule against this?” I more asked than stated.

“My sister has been waiting for a reasonable opportunity and a combatant skilled enough. The Protocols say that no duel challenged can be turned down. It mentions nothing of gender. Trust me; she’s been quite thorough on the matter.”

I recalled the image of Meena dueling Altis. Since that day, I’d been viewing Meena’s patient strategy as a parable, but Altis had won. Altis started and ended with his audacity. Meena outlasted many, but in the end, still lost. In that moment, the entire metaphor twisted. I needed Altis’s boldness not Meena’s cunning to convert this culture. I needed to surprise the Empire into belief.

“This is a live broadcastible, correct?” I asked and Bahlym nodded. “Who is the best dueler in all of the Council?”

“Without a doubt, Councilman Admiral Drahwan Dehdarad. He won his rank and his seat through duels. He’s the best in two hundred years, so don’t pick him. I think a solid choice would be…”

Ignoring the rest—because I knew that Altis would attack this Drahwan—I strode back into the Council room. “I challenge Councilman Admiral Drahwan Dehdarad to a duel.”

All eyes turned to a hulk of a man, who I assumed must be Drahwan. His arms were easily thicker than my neck. I probably didn’t even come up to his shoulders. I couldn’t understand his words, but I didn’t need Bahlym to translate.

“Afraid, Councilman?” I asked.

He sputtered in the Empire’s language. Bahlym translated. “This woman dares to speak in the Council?”

“Yes, I do.”

I could practically feel the twelve million citizens of the capital and the millions of other across the Empire watching me through their broadcastible while General Zirban turned to confer with his staff. I stood with my arms crossed doing my best to look proud and ready to defend the Slices against The Edges.

All eyes in the room turned toward the general. “My hands are tied,” he announced. “Per Protocol, Hailey Troubade will meet Drahwan Dehdarad tomorrow evening, and they will battle to the death.”