The Prophet's Daughter (12 page)

“Okay, sure, let’s not tell me,” I mumbled, burying my face in my knees.

Some time passed before there was any further conversation betw
een myself and the others. Isaac and Neil tossed back casual banter, but none of it quite registered in my mind. None of it was information I needed to figure out just what the plan for me was.

“Balls,” Neil groaned, shaking his head.

“What?” Isaac and I questioned in tune with each other.

“Well, we’re not as filled up as I had hoped,” he answered, drawing out his answer and refusing to meet our gazes.

“What’s that mean, Neil?” Isaac snapped, leaning towards him.

“She’s out of gas. We’re going down,” Neil m
urmured, burying his face in his hands.

“Going down?” I breathed eyes wide.

“We’re going to crash,” Isaac responded, lifting his leg and kicking the front of the plane.

“Crash? Isn’t there any way to stop it?” I cried, sinking my nails into Isaac’s seat an
d sitting on my knees, leaning towards the two of them.

“Unless you can find us some gas up here and put it in the tank,” he sighed, “there’s nothing to be done.”

“Are we going to die?” I groaned, sitting backwards and curling my knees to my chest. I couldn’t be dying, not yet. My parents didn’t sacrifice themselves so I could die already – they wanted me to live… I wanted to live.

“We’ll see when we land,” Neil breathed, and I closed my eyes, appalled by his reaction. He didn’t
show an inkling of terror, and seemed to just accept that our plane was going down and he wasn’t going to try and stop it.

“Thanks a lot, Neil,” growled Isaac. No other words were shared, and we all sat in silence as the plane tipped forwards and began it
s descend towards the forests below. They had accepted that their fate was in their God’s hands – I couldn’t. My fate was in chance, luck, and the hope that I wouldn’t be crushed by the heavy metals.

“Please, if there is a God,” I began, closing my eyes an
d clasping my hand into a fist. I couldn’t finish, there was nothing to say. I couldn’t bring myself to prey for survival from a deity I didn’t believe in. “I can’t.”

Shaking echoed around us – the plane began to descend at a rate that the entire structure
vibrated with such intensity that I could feel it in my very bones. I looked to Isaac and Neil, who both had their heads bowed. I shook from the vibrations of the plane, but also with fear. Every hair on my body stood on end, goose bumps lined my arms and my heart hammered against my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words just leaving my mouth as the plane slammed into the ground.

I woke some time later to the sound of crackling and hissing
echoing around me, though I couldn’t quite name what could be making such a noise. It was warm, too warm – I could feel sweat beads dribbling down my forehead. I coughed, a hard and painful cough, to try and clear my lungs of whatever it was that made them ache, that made my throat burn every time I inhaled. After a moment of silence, the pain shooting through my leg registered.

With a low moan, I opened my eyes and was greeting with the sight of hell. Flames, small and smoking, flickered all around me. I
was laying, sprawled across the ground, surrounded by a sticky red substance – blood. I shifted my gaze, the blurred world tilting, and my head began to throb in protest. Groaning, I shifted my position and my gaze to take a look at my leg.

As my eyes saw
the mess that was one of my limbs, my brain registered the pain. I turned away, vomiting and crying out, unable to lift my hands to grab my leg. My pants had been torn to shreds, my left leg a dark crimson and black mess – it throbbed and burned. I opened my mouth, my body releasing a cry of pain while the world began to disappear from my view as I slipped into unconsciousness.

“Divine of our land and savior of our tainted souls,” a distant voice murmured, “divine of who we serve with every ounce of strengt
h that course through our body, take into your heavens…” It grew distant again, too far away for me to make sense of.

I awoke with a moan, soaked with bile and blood and tinted gray from the ashes of the dying fires as I stared at the ground. My face was s
treaked with dried tears as I rolled onto my back, crying out as pain flowed through me.

“Ah,” I whimpered, pulling myself upwards, “ow.” I looked around; spotting one of the seats Neil and Isaac had been sitting in just behind me. With great amounts of ef
fort, I dragged myself towards it, leaning up against the charred object. I observed my leg, bile rising in my throat at the sight and the pain, unable to understand what I was going to do. I didn’t have the supplies, I didn’t have a way to walk – it hurt too much – but if I didn’t get anything to handle the wound, I would die of infection…

“Arin!” A distant voice cried. “Arin, can you hear me?” Desperation, I could hear it clear as day in the voice that I had come to know quite well. Isaac. I groaned, the
sound making the ache in my head a little stronger with every cry, every call that came in search of me.

“Isaac,” I breathed, his name passing my lips in an inaudible whisper. I turned my head, gaze scouring the land around me, catching sight of Neil. I co
uldn’t feel a thing for old man, his body contorted and mangled, crushed beneath the wind of the plane. Had he not been a raider, I would have felt for him, mourned for him – but he was a murderer to me, someone who killed because he could, because he wanted to. He was worthless.

“Good riddance,” I coughed, leaning my head back against the seat. Isaac, who continued to holler my name, still hadn’t found me, and I couldn’t decide if that was a positive or not. I needed help, even
if it was from him. I tried to call back, but the world began to swim and soon enough I was engulfed in a world of black once more.

Colds chills raced up my spine, a shiver running through my body as something wet and cold dripped down my face.

“Towels, honey,” ordered an unfamiliar, feminine voice.

“Okay, Mama,” said a far younger voice, one that belonged to a child. I hadn’t seen a child in years. Who was this? Who was the older woman?

“Olive. The clean one,” sighed the older woman, her voice hinting agitation.

“Oh,” whispered the c
hild, who I assumed was Olive. “Sorry. Is she okay?”

“No way to know at the moment,” the older woman responded. Something rough dabbed at my face, followed by something fleshy – a hand? “Her head should be fine, but I don’t think she’ll be walking
any time soon.”

“When will she wake up?” The young girl questioned her voice a little higher.

“She’s already awake.” The woman laughed.

“Really? Why aren’t her eyes open then?” Olive gasped and I could hear her a little clearer, as if she had come closer t
o me.

“She’s observing, I should think.” A hand rested on my good leg.

“You’re safe here, sweet heart. You can open your eyes.”

How do I know I can trust you?
I thought bitterly.
Well, she did save your life. If she wanted you dead, I’m sure you wouldn’t be alive.
I settled on deciding to trust her – I had no other choice. If her guess was right, I wouldn’t be walking for a few days, and I didn’t think I could fake unconsciousness if she already knew I was awake.

“How did you know?” I questioned, opening m
y eyes. I shut them almost as soon as they had opened, the bright light stinging my eyes and bringing the pain in my head back to almost and unbearable level.

“Breathing,” the woman said. “Your breathing pattern is different when you’re asleep than from wh
en you’re awake.”

“Mama,” Olive piped up, and I opened my eyes, squinting. I could only bare enough light to see her tugging on the woman’s hand.

“Go close the tent flap, Olive. Turn out the lantern, too.”

“But then it’ll be dark!” Olive whined in protest
, and I could hear her stamping her foot.

“Olive,” snapped the woman, and I could hear the shuffling and mumbling as the young girl obeyed her mother’s order. I opened my eyes again, glad the light was gone and I could bear to open my eyes.

“Thank you,” I croaked, glancing around the tent. Piles of bloody rags sat in the corner, a bunch of bottles and bandages lay scattered across the area as well. My leg was wrapped in a bandage, splatters of red dotting the it – the only thing I was wearing was a pair of underwear and a dark green tank top.

“I had to strip you down,” interrupted the woman as I opened my mouth to question where my clothes were. “You were covered in blood and I couldn’t risk this leg getting infected.”

“Who are you?” I demanded, my question coming out sharper and more demanding than I had intended.

“Felicity,” she said in a smooth voice, glancing behind her.

“That’s Olivia, or Olive.

“Hi,” murmured Olivia, glancing at me from behind her mother.

“Hi,” I said, staring at her. She was short, thin with long and messy black hair. Her front tooth was missing, and she sat with her hands together, fiddling with her thumbs. She was cute, though, that was easy to be said.

“And you?” Felicity pivoted on her feet to face me, her dress twirling with the m
ovement. She was tall and thin with dark black hair tied up in faded patterned bandana, her skin a soft brown, with dark circles under her piercing chocolate, almost black eyes. It was hard not to stare at her somewhat angular face – she was a type of beautiful I had never seen before.

“Pardon?” I turned my attention from her face to her mouth, the words she spoke echoing in my head. I knew what she had said; I heard her loud and clear…
Tell her the truth.

“Arin,” I responded then, glancing at my feet.

“That boy that was with you, he your brother?” Her question was low, sharp.

“No.” I shook my head, cringing at the pain. “No he’s not.”

“Then who is he to you?” Felicity crossed her arms, looking down at me with a raised eyebrow. “He was hell bent on finding you.”

“A raider, if you know who they are,” I murmured, shifting where I sat.

“So you would have nothing against me having him killed?” She said in a quick burst, clapping her hands together.

“No, don’t kill him…” I paused and gave a long sigh. “Just..
I don’t know. Do what you want, just please don’t kill him.”

“Are you a raider too?” Felicity looked at me, standing up straight, a look of rage burning in her dark eyes.

“No,” I began.

“Then you’re safer here than anywhere else. I’ll be right back.”
With a quick look at Olivia, she turned away and ducked out of the tent, disappearing from sight.

“I don’t like your name,” whispered Olivia after a few moments of silence.

“Why not?” Curious, I turned to look at Olive, who remained a little ways away by the tent flap.

“It’s silly. What’s an Arin?” She said, sounding as if she was making perfect sense.

“I’m an Arin, I guess,” I responded, shrugging.

“It’s weird; you should be named after something.” She crossed her arms.

“Why? My name is Arin, so I’m an Arin. Your nickname is Olive, so are you an olive?” I asked, tilting my head as if too appear to be curious in the girls answer.

“I’m not an olive,” she responded, shaking her head.

“Is your name silly?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, face contorting with conf
usion. “Why?”

“Because if your name isn’t silly, why is mine?

“Uh,” she breathed, blinking at me. “I don’t know.”

“Exactly,”  I responded, stifling a laugh as she shuffled towards me on her rear. “How old are you?”

“I’m six. I’m gonna be seven soon!” Her voice rose and her eyes glittered with excitement.

“When’s your birthday?” I asked, smiling at her.

“Soon! I celebrate my birth with a few of my friends on the next winter-born celebration day. It’s only a few months from now!” Olivia clapped her hands together.

“Oh? What’s winter-born?” I was curious then, in the sincerest of ways. It had been a few months since my birthday – three, in fact.

Before Olivia could answer, the tent flap opened and Felicity stepped inside, looking far more relaxed than she had when she had left.

“Olive, can you go and get me some clean rags?” Felicity looked at her daughter, patting her on the top of the head to get her attention.

“Okay,” said the girl, jumping up and scuttling off and outside of the den.

“Good kid, you know,” Felicity murmured, sitting down in front of me.

“Where’d you go?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t overstepping my boundaries by asking.

“I went to take care of that friend of yours,” she said, shrugging.

“He won’t be bothering you anymore.”

“What’d you do?” I asked, the feeling of fear prickling along my spine.

“I didn’t kill him, though I don’t see why it would have been a problem if I had,” she snorted. “But I suppose there is some reason the girl he and his superiors want to have killed doesn’t want him to undergo the same fate.”

“What do you mean?” I questioned, staring into her eyes.

“Annabelle, she’s your Mum right?”

“How do you know-” I began, but Felicity’s laugh interrupted me.

“Everyone knows who you are, who your parents are, and who is looking for you. Not many know why – only those who are, or were, part of his little cult do.” She sighed, shaking her head and looking at me with sad eyes. “It’s not a very… nice way to go.”

“What is it?”

“
And so it is foretold that he shall spill the blood of his children unto a tarnished white lily and bring purity to our tainted lands,
” she laughed. “It’s all bull, though. All lies he tells because he wants safety from those who want payment for what he has ordered, for the people he has slaughtered.”

“How do you know about it?” I questioned, confused. “Why doesn’t he just have a child and use that child?”

“If he did, they would know he’s lying. So he says it must be his first born.” She shook her head, exhaling a heavy breath.  “Once upon a time, we thought it could just be a new child – first he said it had to be a child born of love, and then I had Olive…”

“Olive?” I breathed, interrupting her mid-sentence. “What do you mean you had Olive?”

“Olive is the daughter of the prophet, as well as my daughter,” Felicity said, showing no signs of agitation towards my interruption. “They wanted to use her; he was all for it and... it’s why I ran, and I why I haven’t sent you straight to him.”

“I… I don’t…”
Sister? I have a sister?
I stared at Felicity, eyes wide and unable to comprehend that after sixteen years, I had learned that I was not an only child. Of course, this didn’t change anything – it just meant I had someone left in the world that wasn’t my mother and my father… but she was six, and she would need me more than I would need her and it would just be wrong to get her wrapped up in it all.

“Don’t tell her.” Felicity held my gaze as she spoke, moving to grab my hand. I pulled away from her touch, but nodded.

“I promise. She doesn’t need to know.” I paused for a few precious moments. “I don’t understand why people still follow him, though.”

“A lot of people have nowhere else to go. They joined him in the first few years, and for some of them – those born in the beginnin
g of the end like you – it’s all they know. Besides, after I left, I heard he changed the prophecy - said it was the Will of God that it had to be his first born...” she said, shaking her head and tapping her fingers against her thigh. “How can they leave what they have grown up believing with ease when leaving could mean starvation and certain death? He lies, he tells so many lies, but they believe him, they protect him.” She looked at me, lips pulled in a tight line. “It was hard enough for me, because that is where my family is – my mother, father, brother… I can’t imagine what it would be like for them to leave after how hard it was for me.”