Storm Phase – 4
In this epic fantasy, a young wizard with a mysterious destiny, a cat-girl ninja, and a diary that turns into a bat-like creature journey through worlds of monsters and mayhem.
Iniru spun and raised her hands into a defensive position as a stooped, white-furred k’chasan woman wearing only a short, black skirt stepped out from the shadows. Chills pricked across Iniru’s skin. She had examined the cavern without seeing or smelling anyone. If the woman had entered after her, Iniru should have heard some trace of sound.
Judging by her thinning fur, the woman was older than old. Trailing behind her was a girl who appeared to be several years younger than Iniru. She too had cloud-white fur and wore only a black skirt. Iniru had never before seen a k’chasa with white fur. She didn’t even know that was possible. She had only ever seen shades of brown, red, and black.
“I am the Prophet.” The crone flicked an arthritic hand toward the girl. “And this is my acolyte.”
Iniru removed the scarf covering the lower half of her face and bowed low. “I am at your service, Madam Prophet.”
“Follow me, please,” the acolyte said, and she led Iniru to a spot in front of the central iron brazier. “Kneel here, please.”
Iniru settled her knees into rounded indentations where thousands had knelt before. This wasn’t the only place to kneel, though. Eleven other pairs of indentations surrounded the brazier. Missions sometimes required more than one qengai, but never more than twelve.
The Prophet stepped between her and the brazier. “Are you prepared to serve the Sacred Codex?”
“I am ready, Madam Prophet.”
As the Prophet smiled, her bright-blue eyes disappeared into folds of skin and fur. “You are well-trained and determined, but you are not ready.”
“I am!” Iniru exclaimed, then blushed as she immediately regretted her outburst.
If the Prophet was offended, she didn’t show it. “They always think they are ready,” she said to her acolyte, “but they aren’t. Do you know why?”
“Because they are afraid of you,” the young girl said.
“Yes,” the Prophet replied. “But only because I can sense their futures.”
Iniru gasped. “You can see my future?”
“I cannot see what will happen,” the Prophet said. “However, I can sense the possibilities that lie within you and how they will play out over time.”
Iniru studied the Prophet’s ancient face. She seemed calm, but her eyes glinted with fierce determination, her lips were pressed firmly together, and her jaw was set. She looked as if she were prepared to do something terrible — if necessary.
“If you don’t like what you sense, you will reject me, right?” Iniru asked.
From a sheath strapped to her thigh, the Prophet drew a knife with a wickedly sharp blade. “I will.”
No one had ever told Iniru the consequences of being rejected. No one needed to.
The Prophet took a few deep breaths, closed her eyes, then touched a fingertip to Iniru’s forehead. “You will be important and accomplished…” her withered lips drooped into a frown “…but you will be sorely tempted to stray from the path and… in the end… you may fail as a qengai.”
“I will never fail!” Iniru’s stomach turned. “I will be a great qengai!” She choked down the acid surging into her throat and leaped to her feet. “I will never abandon the path! I – will – make – my – mother – proud!”
The Prophet didn’t even flinch in response to her outbirst. “First of all,” she said, “do not be naive. All qengai fail a mission at some point. Many even survive those failures.”
“But you think I may abandon the path!” Iniru snapped.
The Prophet shrugged. “Perhaps you will.”
“Then you should kill me now!” Iniru patted her chest. “Plunge the knife in. Do it now. The sooner the better. I will not be a disgrace to my mother! I will not—”
The Prophet pointed her knife at Iniru and shouted, “Stop being dramatic and kneel!”
Iniru hesitated.
“Kneel!” the Prophet growled.
Iniru did as commanded, albeit reluctantly.
“When one of our blessed children first comes here, it is not my job to determine whether they will someday stray from the path.” The Prophet returned her blade to its sheath. “Or whether they will be a successful servant to the Sacred Codex.”
Trembling with anger, Iniru cocked her head to the side. “Then… then what’s the point of this interview? Why not simply give me my mission and send me on my way?”
“Child, tell her our responsibility.”
“Our responsibility is to appraise her in two separate stages,” the acolyte recited. “If she passes our first test, which she did by making it here, then we will open her mind to the possibilities of the future so that she can be sure of this path she has chosen and so that we can be certain of her heart’s intent. If we detect evil in her heart now and evil in her future, then we will kill her. Mercifully.”
“Eloquent and correct, child.” The Prophet’s eyes bored into Iniru. “Can we continue now, or would you prefer to throw a tantrum and needlessly jam a knife into your heart?”
Iniru’s cheeks burned, and her stomach still churned. She wanted to continue to argue that she would never abandon the path, no matter what happened, but she held her tongue. “I apologize, Madam Prophet. I am ready. And I will not interrupt you again.”
The Prophet smiled thinly. “Truth be told, Iniru of Yasei, it is far more likely you will die before the temptation of giving up ever comes to you. In the meantime, you may be of great service to our people. But let us first be sure of your heart.”
The acolyte handed the box of herbs to the Prophet. She removed a pinch and returned the box to the child. The Prophet tossed the herbs onto the hot coals. Purple flames flashed within the brazier, and a thick, aromatic smoke billowed throughout the room. The firefly swarms zipped up to the ceiling, but as the smoke thinned out to a haze, they drifted back down.
“Using methods handed down to us by Master Notasami,” the Prophet said, “I will now open your mind to the world of dreaming. There, what I felt before in your heart, you will see for yourself: glimpses of possibilities… scenes of what might happen… images that represent your destiny… should you stay true to yourself.”
Iniru rubbed her swelling, smoke-irritated eyes. “So I will see my future?”
“In a manner of speaking,” the Prophet said. “Many are the paths that lie ahead. The things you see might be specific, or they may be vague and open to interpretation. Or the visions might not mean anything to you… not yet, anyway. And, of course, the things you see may never come to pass.”
“I only saw this cavern,” the child said wistfully.
“It is true that a few souls will see only one thing, one future,” the Prophet said. “When I ventured into the dreaming, I too saw this cavern and nothing else. This was the path of my heart, my only destiny. No matter what I did, I would always end up here.”
Feeling dizzy and a little sick, as if she’d had drank too much wine, Iniru struggled to focus. The anger that had buzzed within her was quickly draining away. “So… so what’s the point?”
“Perhaps knowing what lies ahead will bring you inner peace when things are darkest,” the Prophet said. “Perhaps it will give you strength when you are weak.” The Prophet shrugged. “Only you can understand your heart’s desire. Only you can embrace or run from the possibilities you see today, or attempt to thwart a seemingly certain fate and forge for yourself a new destiny.”
The Prophet shuffled to the table and picked up some items. “Ultimately, the point is what you make of it. During this process, I will be reading your emotional responses to the futures you perceive. Those responses will help me know your heart and whether I should let you continue you on from here.”
She gave Iniru twelve small squares of parchment and a shard of charcoal. “The images you see will quickly fade from memory, as with scenes from a normal dream. But you can record the ones that resonate with you the most — if you like. Most qengai do.”
“I’m not an artist,” Iniru said drowsily. “I can’t draw anything.”
The Prophet spoke a phrase Iniru didn’t understand and tossed another pinch of herbs onto the hot coals. “The magic of the dreaming will guide your hand.”
The acolyte placed a small drafting table between Iniru and the brazier. “Here, everyone is an artist.”
Iniru’s normally erect shoulders slumped, and her mind went suddenly wonky. The room bobbed and spun, like a toy boat caught in rapids. She felt as if she might fall over and didn’t see how she could possibly draw anything.
The acolyte arranged the sheets of paper, adjusted the charcoal stick in Iniru’s hand, and pulled the table closer.
“Don’t let go of the charcoal.” The acolyte patted Iniru on the back. “I’ll be right behind you, and I won’t let you fall over.”
“How… how am I… supposed to…”
“It’s so much easier if you stop fighting it,” the child said as she placed her small hands on Iniru’s back.
Chanting arcane phrases, the Prophet paced the room, circling Iniru and the brazier. The fireflies descended and followed her, like a frothing stream of stars. Iniru released a deep breath, allowing her anger and fear to fade away.
Suddenly, flickering mists were all Iniru could see… until images formed within those mists and came slowly into focus.