The Chains of Duty Chapter 11: The Prophecy

…On the full moon of each month
Shall come the time
Of fulfillment of dreams
For those who wish for the world
The key lies in the youngest of the dark ones
Whose blood flows blue
They shall give you what you desire
And much more besides
And it is through them
That you will find redemption…

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A light breeze swept past her as she struggled to hold her hair out of the way. The heat had subsided somewhat, but the sun still shone bright. Nidara’s gray eyes squinted as she looked up at the sky, forming creases along the corners. She looked as if she had aged years in just days. Tufts of white clouds glared down at her from the azure backdrop of the sky.

She wondered what redemption meant, what that entire page meant. These sorcery books were confounding indeed. She understood a lot of it. But this one paragraph confused her to no end.

“Nidara?” called a voice from the hallway. She turned to find Keed, dressed as formally as ever. He stood with one hand resting on the railing of the hallway. The same railing extended over the edge of the balcony to where she stood with one had on it, the other wistfully holding her rebellious hair in place. He neared her and she turned back to face the hill. He stood next to her in a matter of seconds

“You came,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said, placing his hands beside hers on the railing. “The prayer ceremony will start soon. His highness asked me to escort you.”

She smiled in a wry manner. “Like old times,” she said.

“Like old times,” he whispered.

She felt heat behind her eyes as her vision blurred with tears. Novara was the only person she cared about at the moment. Every time she thought of Novara’s thinning form she felt a rage bubble inside her. What had Xelop done to her that even after an entire week Novara refused to wake up? But she felt weak at the same time, because she could do nothing to help her dear sister. A drop of tear fell on her clenched fist. Markoph arranged for a traditional prayer ceremony for Novara, and Nidara was to take the seat of lead prayer. She would have to drink the holy water before everyone else.

She felt a timid hand slip over hers. She opened her eyes and saw Keed’s hand brushing away the tear. She looked at him, the tear tracks on her cheeks glistening.

“I wish I could do something more to comfort you,” he said, the strain in his voice drowning out the tranquility of the morning.

“You do not need to,” she croaked. “It was not your fault.”

“It is,” he insisted. “All of it is my fault. You got hurt, Yawen was invaded and now Novara is in a coma. It is all because of my weakness.”

“Keed, please stop. Taking the blame does not help”

“Neither does trying to help in any other way,” he said in frustration. His brows were knitted together in conflict.

She turned away from him again; she did not know what to say. There he was trying his best to win back the trust he had once lost, and failing. Not because of his own inability but because of circumstances. And she did not know what it would feel like, to have those close to you distrust you. She never wanted to.

He sighed. “We ought to go. The king will be worried,” he said before starting to walk away.

She nodded in reply. Just as she was turning, she saw something flicker atop the hill. She stopped midstride.

“Nidara, come,” he said not noticing what stopped her.

She blinked up at the hill, trying once again to see what she saw. But it did not appear again. And she was forced to turn away, Keed calling out to her and eventually leading her away.

Perhaps it was just a trick of my eye, she thought.

~~~~~~~~~~

The high priest of the Yawenin cathedral stood in front of her with a bowl in hand. It was small porridge bowl in size. The edge of the bowl was lined with runes bearing different meanings, calling out in need to their god. She held out her hand, and the priest handed it to her. She held it with the care with which a mother holds her child. All around her, the nobles held bowls that looked the same as the one she held. Everyone looked as pensive as she felt. Even the throne seemed to be mourning, casting aside its usual grandeur and joining the rest of the throne room in the sorrow.

Maids went around the room pouring water into each of the bowls.

“As the bowl becomes full, the water becomes holy,” the priest recited. “Our god has given us this miracle, so that we may believe. And we must see what we pray for in the sacred bowls of holiness. And we must drink from therein for our prayer to be accepted. And we must believe in the god. May our prayers come to pass.”

The last of the water was poured into Nidara’s bowl. She looked into the water’s depths and did her best to see Novara, safe and healthy and alive. She summoned up what belief she had in the god and slowly tipped the bowl to her lips. The cool liquid flowed down her throat and helped to calm her anxious heart, though only a little bit. She closed her eyes, savoring the tranquility the water offered.

Behind her closed eyelids, she saw the Novara she had raised. Strong and confident and healthy, just the way she deserved to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

The intricate weavings in the lace lining her exquisite dress shimmered silver in the afternoon sun. She wove and unwove the patterns with her eyes. These solitary moments were her only reprieve from the constant worry for Novara. The strings overlapped each other in so many places it became almost impossible to follow a single one. She draped a sleeve over the armrest of the chair she sat on in the balcony, the only place where she could be by herself. The only place where she could become one with the world.

She felt an accusing heat spreading inside her. At a time as crucial as now, with Xelop at large and his army ready to do his bidding, she ought to be taking care of more important things. She ought to be doing her best to fight Xelop in every way possible. She ought to be making sure that the deaths of all those people during his invasion did not go in vain. The guilt felt like a dagger stabbing through her again and again.

Novara would want me to fight.

She strengthened her resolve to fight Xelop whatever it took, till her last breath. She forced herself to stand up, to be strong. She had to fight. She had to.

She wondered once again what that passage meant. The fulfillment of dreams, the youngest one, the redemption. She hoped to find out soon.

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To be continued…