Stone of Tears

A grim smile spread on his lips. “Frightened you, did I? Would you like to be really frightened? Would you like me to show you a prophecy? Not tell you the words, but show it to you? Show it to you the way it was meant to be passed on? I have never shown a Sister before. You all study them and think you can decipher their meaning from the words, but you don’t understand. That is not the true way they work.”

She leaned forward. “What do you mean that is not the way they work? They are meant to foretell, and that is what they do.”

He shook his head. “Only partly. They are passed on by ones with the gift, ones like me: prophets. They are intended to be read and understood through the gift, by ones with the gift, ones like me, not to be picked over by the likes of your power.”

As he straightened himself, pulling the aura of authority around himself again, she studied his face. She had never heard of such a thing. She wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth, or just talking out of anger. But if it was the truth…

“Nathan, anything you could tell me, or show me, would be a great help. We are all struggling on the side of the Creator. His cause must prevail. The forces of the Nameless One struggle always to silence us. Yes, I would like you to show me a prophecy the way it is meant to be passed on. if you can.”

He drew himself up, peering at her with burning intensity. At last he spoke softly. “Very well, Sister Margaret.” He leaned toward her, his expression so grave it nearly took her breath away.

“Look into my eyes,” he whispered. “Lose yourself in my eyes.”

His gaze drew her in, the deep, azure color spreading in her vision until it seemed she was looking up into the clear sky. She felt as if he were drawing every breath for her.

“I will tell you the prophecy of the true fork again, but this time, I will show it to you as it is meant to be.” She floated as she listened. “Of all there were, but a single one born of the magic to bring forth truth will remain alive…”

The words melted away, and instead, she saw the prophecy as if seeing a vision. She was pulled into it. She was no longer in the palace, but in the vision itself.

She saw a beautiful woman with long hair, dressed in a satiny white dress: the Mother Confessor. Margaret saw the other Confessors being killed by quads sent from D’Hara and she felt the blinding horror of it. She saw the woman’s best friend and sister confessor die in her arms. She felt the grief of the Mother Confessor.

Then, Margaret saw the Mother Confessor before the one from D’Hara who had sent the quads to kill the other Confessors. The handsome man in white stood before three boxes. To Margaret’s surprise, each box cast a different number of shadows. The man in white robes performed rituals, cast evil spells, underworld spells, late into the night, through the night, until the sun rose. As the day brightened, somehow Margaret knew that it was this day. She was seeing what had happened this very day.

The man in white had finished with the preparations. He stood before the boxes. Smiling, he reached out and opened the one in the center, the one that cast two shadows. Light from within the box bathed him in its brilliance at first, but then in a flash of power, the magic of the box swirled about him and snuffed out his life. He had chosen wrong; he forfeited his life to the magic he sought to claim.

She saw the Mother Confessor with a man. A man she loved. She felt her happiness. It was a joy the woman had never experienced before. Margaret’s heart swelled with the bliss the Mother Confessor felt at the side of this man. It was a vision of what was happening at this very moment.

And then Margaret’s mind swept forward in a swirl. She saw war and death sweep across the land. She saw death brought by the Keeper of the underworld, to the world of the living with a wicked lust that choked her with terror.

Again the prophecy swept her forward to a great crowd. At the center was the Mother Confessor, standing on a heavy platform. The people were excited and in a celebratory mood.

This was the joyous event that would bring the fork of the prophecy, one of the forks that must be passed correctly to save the world from the darkness snatching at it. She was caught up in the festive mood of the crowd. She felt a tingle of expectant hope, wondering if the man the Mother Confessor loved was to be the one she was to wed, and if that was the happy event the Prophecy spoke of that would bring joy to the people. Her heart ached for it to be so.

But something wasn’t right. Margaret’s warm delight cooled until her flesh prickled with icy bumps.

With a wave of worry, Margaret saw that the Mother Confessor’s hands were bound, and next to her stood a man, not the man she loved, but a man in a black hood. He held a great axe. Margaret’s worry turned to horror.