Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing) (4 page)

    
“
Who’s there?”

    
Aerona smirked and waved her hand. The fire blew out. The room was plunged into darkness, the only light came from the moon shimmering through the canopy. Aerona then closed her eyes and appeared beside the figure. William frowned, she had moved like before, he rubbed his eyes but he still saw the strange woman inches away from Elina.

    
“
Recognise me Elina?” Aerona sneered.

    
Elina gasped and instinctively glanced to her side; there, in a small cot, her baby slept, a mop of black hair falling around her face and a golden necklace against her chest. Elina waved a hand and the fire relit. The room was suddenly lit with a golden glow. Aerona followed Elina’s gaze and smiled cruelly, lifting a hand to stroke Elina’s cheek. Elina shuddered at the touch, it was as though cold water ran down her face, she recoiled from the contact for Aerona’s fingertips were blades of ice. Elina and Aerona stared at each other for a long time, William watched them warily from outside the window. He knew the look of pain on Elina’s face; Aerona was searching her mind. He felt completely helpless, this woman was not human; she was a Sorceress, something unholy and evil which he had never seen before and would never understand.

    
“
What do you want Aerona?” Elina gasped managing to break the gaze. Aerona frowned and waved her arm. Every single piece of furniture exploded into a thousand fragments. Most found Elina, cutting her as they went past. Her baby daughter began to cry, the wood narrowly missing the cot. Aerona smiled, control and fear restored. Aerona had imagined Elina to be weak, to fall at her gaze and to beg for mercy. The fact that she had torn herself away from Aerona’s eyes infuriated her. The rage built as she watched Elina bleed.

    
“
I want you dead!” Aerona finally screeched, self control completely lost, “You have been a thorn in my side since you came to your powers. And now I hear of a prophecy about you? Well that just makes my blood boil. You are worthless, far more pathetic than I could have ever imagined. And do you know something I laughed when your husband died, the little hero, murdered? That was a sweet taste in my mouth, and he left you to raise the baby on your own... how terribly selfish of him.”

    
Elina’s daughter whimpered. Elina clenched her fists and went to move towards her baby, Aerona cackled and lifted her hand. Elina flew into a nearby wall, flung through the air by an invisible force. The wall cracked and debris fell onto Elina’s unmoving body. The baby began to cry again and Aerona walked slowly over to it, leaning over the edge of the cot, her fire red hair near to the baby’s face.

    
“
You must be Wynn, you’re too young to understand what I’m about to say but I shall give you a gift, you shall dream of this night forever, you will not understand it because all those you love will be dead and you will feel isolated from the rest of the world. You’re probably wondering how I know you and your mother. Your mother and I go way back, before you were born. We learned our gifts together, became like sisters. When the time came, she chose the wrong side. I offered her a chance, power equals respect so I killed for it, but she turned my offer down and chose a path of healing. Magic is reserved for those who will use it to its full potential and your mother didn’t. Then I found an ancient prophecy depicting my downfall would come from a woman with black hair and emerald eyes. Now that of course means your mother, but she went and got married, she became far weaker than I thought, giving her heart away to a man. That’s never a good idea. Your father was a fine, handsome man; his murder was a tragic loss. Now I can’t say for definite that it was my doing, my men are scattered all over the land, but I would take great delight in thinking I caused his death, but one can only dream...”

    
Wynn gurgled and laughed at Aerona, Aerona scowled and a ball of fire lit in her hand. William gasped from outside and went to cry out but knew better than to attract attention to himself. His eyes darted around for something, anything that could help. On the ground he saw a branch, he picked it up slowly and tip toed around to the front door. When he entered the room Aerona was holding Wynn by the collar of her dress, holding her high above her bed, and a ball of fire in one hand, which she waved menacingly close to Wynn. Wynn was screaming in fear, her fists screwed in a tight ball.

    
“
Stop me Elina. Where is this legendary Magus that the prophecy glorifies? It was so entertaining killing the people of Woodstone, watching them squirm and cry, reduced to begging for their lives. Your friends I recall, many thought of you as I murdered them.” Aerona snarled over the babies cries, the fireball growing in size.
   
Elina said nothing, tears poured from her eyes but she didn’t move from her sprawled position on the ground, she glanced around the room and caught William’s eye.

    
“
You are worthless,” Elina screamed, gaining Aerona’s attention, for she spun round, dropping the baby onto the bed. Aerona had Elina up against the wall by her neck before William could blink. William subconsciously rubbed his throat, having too had those cold bony fingers around his neck. Elina suddenly gripped Aerona’s arm and fire shot from her palms. Aerona screamed and let go, dropping Elina to the floor, cradling her forearm. William took his chance and charged at Aerona, swinging the branch as he ran. Aerona turned and raised a hand to William’s chest. He fell to the floor, dead, an invisible magic stopping his heart instantly.

    
 
“When darkness falls, let your hope be your guide. Some may control your life, but none can ever control your heart.”
Healer Elina – Deceased.

1

Wynn screamed and fell out of bed, crashing headfirst onto the stone floor, still wrapped in her thin bed sheet. Wearily she extracted herself and lay flat against the stone, ignoring the chill that snaked its way through her tired limbs – her nightdress did little to ward off the cold morning – but sleep still held her, so she was slow to sit up and rest her back against the bed. The room spun as her eyes focused and she remembered where she was. As reality crashed down her dream flashed in front of her eyes. The same dream she had every night since she could remember. At least now, nearly two decades on, the dream had lost some of its previous horror. Yet it did not stop her waking up in a cold sweat, tears streaming down her face. She recalled the moment that always woke her, the moment that, even now as consciousness claimed her, still made her heart hammer against her chest like a blacksmith striking an anvil.

    
“
Stop me Elina. Where is this legendary Magus that the prophecy glorifies? It was so entertaining killing the people of Woodstone, watching them squirm and cry, reduced to begging for their lives. Your friends I recall, many thought of you as I murdered them.”

    
Wynn shuddered; the antagonist of Wynn’s dreams always had the ability to make her stomach churn with disgust. It was the voice of a woman twisted and blackened so that it resembled the echo of a graveyard. Yet it haunted her dreams just as surely as the sun set each night and rose each morning.
Wynn sighed and rubbed her eyes despondently, shaking her head as though to shake the dream from her mind. She was loathed to move and she waited until the floor became uncomfortably cold on her legs before she pushed herself up and sat on the corner of the bed, throwing her sheet behind her in pile.

    
Wynn looked around the room – her room – which was highlighted by the morning light trickling in through the slit of a window over her bed. The golden glow only helped to emphasise the dankness of the room. Her bed was against the wall, a wooden door opposite it, the only way in and out of the room. The grey stone floor matched the grey walls. A small bucket sat in the corner on the right, with a small cracked mirror above it, held onto the wall with a bent nail. Beside the mirror was another single bed, the sheets crumpled for the occupant had long since left.

    
Sighing Wynn pushed herself off her bed, walked over to the mirror and studied her reflection resignedly. The cracks made her face look abstract, her eyes were at different levels and her nose and lips in three pieces. She moved from side to side to cause the reflection to become ever more amusing and her mouth curled in a smile. Forgetting her double in the mirror she ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to be more presentable, knowing whatever she did to it her hair would look the same every morning, when she studied herself in the mirror. Her reflection was constant, the same curly black hair which fell down her back disobediently, never staying in her braid for long, the same green eyes and the same thin golden necklace which rested gently on her chest. The chain was delicate, clearly crafted by the finest blacksmith money could buy, the defining feature a small pendant in the shape of a star.
 

   
 
Finding a leather bind on the floor by her bed Wynn braided her unruly hair until it was out of her face, trying to ignore the loose bits of hair that poked out rebelliously. Realising with irritation that there was no time to go to the bath house Wynn scooped up the hard bar of yellow soap, which was floating glumly in the bucket of water, and washed her face, neck and body until she felt somewhat clean. Scanning the room she found her clothes folded up at the end of the bed. Pulling off her nightdress, she put on her undergarments and then her brown dress and white apron, and with one last look in the mirror left the room.

   
 
“Wynn!” A woman shouted. The voice echoed down the flight of steps which welcomed her as she closed the door behind her. Wynn sighed again and walked up the rickety stairs to the kitchen. Her room was in the basement of the Manor, which she had shared for a short while until the girl had been transferred to a neighbouring town. Wynn had always lived in the basement, whereas the rest of the servants slept in the servant’s quarters. Wynn accredited her loneliness in the Manor and in life to the other servant’s jealousy. Jealously that she had her privacy, her own room to sleep in, wash in, and live in. Oh if they knew the mind numbing seclusion that living alone induced, Wynn thought bitterly as she climbed the stairs, then they would not yearn for it. She had always wondered why the Master had granted her a room of her own, but did not question it. She supposed she should feel privileged, but she knew the Master, and it was not out of kindness she was sure.

   
 
The wooden stairs creaked loudly beneath her feet and her thoughts were interrupted. The stone walls on either side of the stairs were damp with condensation and she ran her hands up either side, like she did every morning, leaving finger marks. The heat of the kitchen hit Wynn in the face as she entered, a stark contrast from her dry, cold room.

   
 
“Where have you been?” The same woman shouted despairingly over the bustle of the kitchen, “Take these up to the Master’s room, you had better hope he has slept in this morning or it will be lashes for you my girl.” Wynn watched the woman’s eyes crinkle with worry at the notion and Wynn felt the corner of her mouth twitch into a smile, watching her needless concern. The Master would not be up; she had never known the man to rise before the second hour after sunrise, why would today be any different?

    
The woman who had spoken was stout with grey hair tied tightly on the top of her head in a bun. She wore a brown dress, apron tied loosely around her ample stomach, and a thin brown scarf wrapped around her neck. She was the Cook, appropriately nick-named, Cook; Wynn had never learnt her real name. The kitchen she commanded was vast, a large fire nestled into a wall, a cauldron hung over it on a hook, its contents spitting and bubbling from the heat. The cauldron could be removed and the fire be turned into a spit. At the other side of the kitchen a young boy was skinning and butchering the carcass of a deer in preparation for the Master’s lunch. Another kitchen boy was frantically scrubbing dirty dishes clean in the corner of the room. In the centre of the room a baker was kneading dough. The servants of the kitchen looked briefly up as Wynn entered, some nodding politely at her presence. Wynn curtseyed at Cook and took the tray of breakfast from the counter in the centre of the room and using her shoulder opened the door of the kitchen.

   
 
The main hall was full of the usual morning commotion. Wynn glanced at the maids as they frantically cleaned before the Master awoke, even though his sleeping pattern was well mapped out it was always wise to have his Manor spotless before he woke, just in case. The white marble floor shone brilliantly in the daylight, which flooded in through huge glass windows, and was being cleaned further to meet the Master’s impossible standards. The doorway she had left through was directly opposite the huge oak doors, dyed black with soot, that were closed now but would offer admittance to the Manor. The first door to the left led to a private and generally unused dining room, the second door on the left was a long corridor that had various rooms branching from it. To the right of Wynn was the huge and extravagant black marble staircase. It curled around then joined onto a balcony which overlooked the hall.

    
Carefully Wynn squeezed past two maids who were scrubbing the marble staircase, taking extra care on the banister, cleaning the gold which was delicately inlaid within the black marble. They maids did not bother to move, and Wynn had to delicately negotiate her way up the wet steps. She reached the top of the stairs and knocked on the first door on the left. There was no answer. She waited for a few moments, casting her eyes over the balcony and the paintings and tapestries which decorated the wall. A hall followed straight from the stairs, doors lined either side of the walls. Large windows above the balcony allowed sunlight to flood into the Manor, the white and black marble contrasting elegantly in its golden glow.

    
Whilst she waited Wynn heard a commotion in the hall as the butler and the servants underneath her were beginning to trestle the tables in preparation for lunch. The Great Hall where the Master ate his lunch was the last room in the corridor on the bottom floor, the doors had been left open in carelessness and the clatter of cutlery being set on the wooden table echoed around the Manor. Wynn scowled as she thought of the servants that would still be in bed, not required until lunch was to be served, the Ewer, the Cupbearers and Carvers. Wynn rolled her eyes at the still unopened door in front of her and knocked again a little harder.

   
 
“Enter!” A man shouted after a long moment.

    
Wynn gritted her teeth before carefully arranging her face so her expression was blank and opened the door slowly, balancing the tray on her knee. She ensured that as she walked in her head was down in respect of the Master. Wynn had never looked around the Master’s room much, only quick glances when he was not looking. She knew a double bed was pushed against the wall in the middle of the room, a wrought iron headboard against the cool whitewash. Windows lined the wall opposite her but now the thick curtains were drawn so that the only light came from sparse candles placed around the room. A large wardrobe sat to the left of Wynn, and a mirror and writing desk sat against the wall to her right. There was not enough furniture to fill the room and Wynn had often wondered how her room could be so cramped when she owned far less than the Master.

   
 
Lord Oprend was strewn on his bed beside his wife, who was still asleep. At Wynn’s entrance he smirked but Wynn still had her head lowered and so did not see his face twist gleefully. A knock sounded behind Wynn surprising the Master and wiping the smile from his face, he grunted admission, wishing they would leave but it was only the servant of the Wardrobe. He entered and hovered by his namesake, his face impassive. The Master did not glance at the servant of the Wardrobe instead fixing his attention back on Wynn.

 
   
Running his fingers through his hair he ordered Wynn to set the tray on the writing desk watching as she obeyed, setting the tray on the desk, where the Master ate his breakfast each morning. Ale with white bread, a dish of meat and a dish of fish; an ordinary, if outlandish, meal for a Lord. Wynn then waited to be dismissed. The air between them was tense and Wynn was beginning to feel, once again, uncomfortable in the Master’s presence. The Master glanced over and checked his wife was still asleep, she mumbled something incoherent then rolled over. Satisfied the Master got out of bed, walked over to the other servant present and allowed him to dress him in a silk dressing gown. Wynn shivered, knowing what was coming.

   
 
The Master walked over to her, “Raise your head girl,” he commanded, his voice was deep and Wynn felt the arrogance in his words. Wynn slowly raised her head and her eyes met with the Master’s. It was as though the rest of the world disappeared, a fragment of her dream flashed in front of her face, as though brought on by the Master.

    
Lord and Lady Oprend’s black carriage slowly came into view, from the shadows of the forest opposite the square, and into the glow of the lanterns. The horses that led it snorted in the cold night air and plumes of air rose around them. Behind the carriage Woodstone’s army of men marched in unison, hands on their swords and murder in their eyes. A murmur of unease spread through the nine hundred strong crowd, they noted that the army had never appeared at the New Year celebrations before; their presence this night brought shivers of mistrust. A sullen man with thinning black hair stepped out of the carriage, followed by a woman with a thin face and long curly blonde hair. They stared down at the crowd with disdain and the crowd stared back at their leaders.
 

    
Wynn blinked, releasing a breath she had not realised she was holding. If the Master thought her actions strange he did not show it, in truth it had only taken a moment of her time to remember and then relive the snippet of her dream, brought on by the very man it centred on. Yet she could not believe her expression was not horrified, would the Master be offended? To calm her nerves she
studied his now familiar features, her eyes darting over his face. He was a man with a morose face only heightened by the wrinkles that lined his eyes, nose, mouth and forehead. His thinning black hair sat greasily atop his head, peppered with grey strands. His teeth were crooked and his thin lips were in a constant sneer. She could see no redeeming features, no matter how often and long she stared at his face. Age was creeping up on him and no matter what he did he could not fight with time, even in her dream he had been old, only now it was beginning to show.