Relinquish(47)

An unusual feeling passes over me. It feels like something gently massaging my brain. Not painful, just… odd. After a brief moment, the feeling passes.

The bent woman leans forward. “I have waited a long time to meet you, Illyria. Since long before you were even in your mother’s womb.”

She rubs her hands over the silken material of her cloak. “I am one of the three high prophetesses. The other two are my sisters, Liliana and Dinara. Sadly, Liliana passed some years back.”

“And Dinara?” I ask.

Sariana’s eyes take on a distant look, her voice soft. “She was taken from me, held prisoner by Aloysius before he became king. He feared our power yet was drawn to it at the same time. Together with my sisters, we were very powerful. After Liliana died, he chose to exile me here.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t care about my life.” She blinks, as if waking from a dream. “I know what it is you seek. I have the answers.”

Bastien leans forward, his expression one of caution yet edged with longing. “Can you tell us why Illyria is in such turmoil?”

I glance over at him, watching the shadows that play across his face. He draws back from my gaze, a flush rising in his cheeks.

Sariana says he seeks the answer to why he still loves me, but he hasn’t said those words. Even now he can’t seem to bring himself to say them. Is he hiding from himself or trying to protect me from more pain?

“Each of you has been given the DNA of your chosen mate. What Kyan told you is true. Illyria has been selected to be with Eamon.”

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until it puffs out between my lips. Bastien’s shoulders tense, but he says nothing, nor does he attempt to look at me. Sariana smiles. “But she possesses your genes as well, Bastien.”

“So there was a mistake,” I say.

“No. Not a mistake at all. The genes you received were the exact ones you were intended to have.”

I scrunch up my nose, utterly confused. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

The crackling of the fire pit just behind Sariana seems to brighten in intensity. I raise a hand to shield my eyes, but almost as soon as I glance away, the anomaly vanishes. I look to Bastien to see if he noticed, but he merely stares at the prophetess with rapt attention.

This is getting weird.

Grabbing a shawl from the arm of her chair, Sariana wraps it about her shoulders. I don’t know how she can stand the added layers. Heat rolls out of the chimney grate in stifling waves. Already my clothes have begun to dry from the snows.

“You and Bastien share the same genes because you were meant to share them. Simple as that. The match you have with each of these men is both genuine yet complicated.”

“That’s one way to put it,” I mutter under my breath.

The rocking chair creaks loudly as the prophetess rises unsteadily to her feet. She plods toward a darkened doorway, pushing aside the tattered brown cloth that acts as a door to separate the two rooms. I lean to the side to try to see through the slit that remains, but all I can make out is a wall of bowing shelves stacked haphazardly with books.

Large and small, square and rectangle. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the stacks. Some boast golden lettering while others are scrolled in black ink. Upon the floor are scattered pages, filled from top to end with scribbled symbols and letters I don’t recognize.

“Ah, here it is.” She hobbles back into the sitting room with an oversize book in hand. Intricate scrawling letters are carved into the leather cover and binding, symbols that look foreign yet vaguely familiar.

“I’ve seen that book in my visions,” I whisper, realizing only as the words tumble from my mouth that it is true.

“You have seen one similar to this. One belonging to my sister, Liliana.” She drops the book onto the table beside her. A cloud of dust erupts into the air.

Bastien coughs as he moves to get a closer look. “I can’t read the writing. What does it say?” he asks, brushing his fingers lightly across the worn, faded tawny cover.

“It is written in an ancient language, similar to your Latin. It is only spoken by the prophets of old… and only on Calisted.”

I look at the woman, wondering just how old she really is. On Earth, I would guess her to be around eighty years old, although I’ve never seen a woman so old. The eldest among our group was in her late sixties when she passed of a fever some years back.

“I am among the first of men, those who lived before the war. By your calendar, I would have been born in the mid 1900s. Then the invasion came and I was whisked away with the survivors. Time slows to a near stop on Calisted, preserving not only our bodies, but our minds as well.”