Desiderium: The War Without: Desiderium, #2

By Katherine Frances

   Hate and war, two edges of the same sword, forever bound in a calamitous cycle, but what if that link was broken?

   Indifference and distance, an ocean’s expanse pulling apart the last hopes of closeness, but what if love survived those murky waters?

   Myra once refused to choose between Verhas and her heart. Rather, she chose both. Now that she is the queen of prophecy with a husband and daughter, she should have everything she wanted, but is finding herself forced to choose yet again. She will come to learn that happiness is a separate thing from prophecy. Disunion blights her home life and her lands. With Ibadeken away exploring uncharted territories, Myra grows more and more unsettled by the recurring dream that awakens her nightly, each time like a grain of sand sliding down the hour glass. How can she force herself to forget about Ibadeken when his life may be in danger? But he is an ocean away, and who knows what dangers she will rouse if she dare cross the seas...

   Desiderium: The War Without is the second book in the Desiderium Trilogy

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katherine Frances
• Release date: Dec 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513073095

Book preview

Verhas

Chapter 1

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Dreams and the Warmth of Another

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Myra had never been in these woods before. The trees had thick trunks that tunneled into the ground, their roots creating cracks and crevices where they sprawled. The leaves were long and thin, grouped together in bunches. There was underbrush but it wasn’t thorny or over grown. It seemed as though the trees had pulled so much out of the soil that nothing could prosper underneath the shadowy canopy. It was dark and the moon only shone through spots of the forest down to the ground. She could only notice all these things because she had seen these woods a thousand times before. But she had never set foot in them.

She still was not inside them, but she could see them vividly, there before her. She knew what this was, but she had little time to think about it. The emotions coursing through her were too great for conscious thought. She could only feel a great need, a great urgency. For what? Why? The same questions came streaming through her head.

Then she saw him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, at yet some resonating part of her had expected him to be. His dirty blond hair was thick and untamed, even more than it once was. His skin was tanned and marked and smudged with the remnants of the forest that surrounded him. He stood there, faltering, only twenty feet away from Myra. He didn’t look at her, and as far as she knew he didn’t even know she was there.

Panic struck her as she remembered why her insides were buzzing with nauseating urgency. He clutched his side, letting out a small grunt that made him seem farther away. She couldn’t see what it was that had made him flinch, or why he had uttered such a groan. She wanted to force her vision to stretch forward as she knew she could, but couldn’t bring herself to see it. It was all too fast, yet so slow. The kind of slowness that is created by repetition. He dropped to his knees and then landed on his chest, his face digging into the dirt.

Fear filled her. It was a phantasmic feeling, because it was there, like successive explosions inside her, and yet she couldn’t feel herself, her body. She didn’t exist, she merely watched. The alien feeling grew until the scene before her was stolen away, captured now by a face.

There, stretched before Myra’s eyes, was a young girl. She could guess the girl was roughly 15 or so, a young woman. She had pleasing features, girlish yet strong. The freckles that riddled her face seemed familiar. Her eyes were deep brown, the kind of color that could envelop the onlooker. Her hair was chestnut with streaks of dark caramel. The face left as soon as it came and was replaced by another. This looked to be about the same age as the first. Her eyes were light blue with an intensity about them that penetrated, her pupils black spears in their center. Her face was sweet, her completion even and pale. Her hair was the lightest brown, the color of natural sugar. Suddenly a vast hole opened up inside Myra and she knew that this girl was a part of her. She felt this for both of the girls, like they were attached to a memory. Or possibly it wasn’t a memory, but something not so firm and definable. She felt a need to reach these girls, to touch them. Their faces were like an echo, perhaps not the aftermath of a cry, but a distant call bounced from mountaintop to mountaintop to reach its Listener. Not a repeat, but something having yet to come.

Myra’s eyes flew open. She didn’t start or heave a worried sigh. She had done so the first few times this dream had awoken her in the night, but not this time, and not for quite some time since they had begun. She stretched, unballing her fists, feeling the coolness of the empty bed beneath her fingertips. She missed the warmth of a second body, though she had become used to its absence by now. Dale hadn’t shared a bed with her in weeks. It was a melancholy feeling. She craved the warmth but disliked herself for the weakness. Perhaps, she realized as she rolled over and attempted to fall back asleep, it wasn’t Dale’s warmth she specifically craved. Perhaps it was the warmth of another.

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Chapter 2

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Prophecy’s Redemption

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That day, after she had awoken again and shaken off the sickness in her stomach, she walked down to the gardens. They were her favorite place to go when she needed peace and quiet to think.

The air was already hot even though it was the end of the warm season, but there was still freshness about the day, a left over chill from the cool night. The castle was far enough south in Verhas that by noon it would probably be miserably hot and relatively humid, but for the time being it was pleasant. Myra sat on the stone bench she always went to, placed beneath her favorite tree. Its leaves were a vibrant green, and in the first of the warm months, what Myra would traditionally have called spring, the tree would be in full bloom, forming cream colored blossoms. She sat and stared at the intricate web of roots sprouting from the tree that made the bench slightly lopsided where it sat.

How long had it been now, since she had last seen Ibadeken? She thought back on all the events that had led up to now, creating the situation she currently inhabited.

First, Ibadeken had left. It had been hard for her, especially hard because she’d been back with Dale. One would think that being with Dale would make losing Ibadeken easier, but it just made it more complicated. She pretended to herself, and to the world, that she didn’t feel empty from his loss. Try as she might, she knew her feelings were there, and Dale sensed it too. It created tension between them, making it even more impossible to ignore her feelings for Ibadeken and the guilt they brought.

Still, Myra and Dale’s wedding had only been a few short weeks away, and it was easier to forget about Ibadeken with all the festivities so close at hand. The wedding was beautiful. Even looking back on it now, she couldn’t deny that it was one of the happiest memories she had. Her love for Ibadeken was, at the time, a small thing compared to what she felt for Dale. He was a weed growing in the shadow of the rose while winter had stolen away its blossoms. Once spring returned, the rose blossomed once more and the weed was more easily forgotten.

And that night, after their wedding, her first child was conceived. It wasn’t by accident. There were forms of birth control, even here in this world that seemed ages behind her old one. The idea of a child had been a controversial idea in Myra’s head, being the somewhat practical girl she was. She emphasized girl in her own mind. She was young still, but she knew what was expected of her. In this place, young marriage wasn’t frowned upon, though it wasn’t incredibly common. Still, Myra felt pressure to prove herself, to prove the prophecy was true. Perhaps one of the most important parts of the prophecy was the foretold unlocking of the sixth sense. The only way it could be done, many speculated, was through the birth of a child. It was what she was meant to do. It was what everyone expected of her, even Dale. How could she fight against that, when every other part of the prophecy seemed so real?

Being queen and pregnant wasn’t easy, but she’d had plenty of help. In fact, in hindsight, the months of her pregnancy were possibly the best of her life here, though they certainly weren’t always comfortable. Dale was still compassionate and loving. There was never any fighting. They were too excited for their growing baby. They both wanted it so fully, both of them so ready to be parents. Sometimes Myra felt hesitation, fear that she was too young and had no idea how to raise a child. But everyone around her was so sure of her, enough that it undid any worry she had. To her people, Myra was a grown woman; she had to be in order to lead them. To them, getting married and pregnant was the natural order of things. No one questioned it. Everyone anticipated it, and therefore, so did Myra herself.

One particular memory stuck in her mind when she thought of her pregnant days. She and Dale were lying in bed, side by side, staring up at the ceiling before sleep. Myra’s stomach protruded, creating a bump in the smooth lines of the sheets. She was about 6 months pregnant, so she was only going to get bigger, something she hadn’t thought on with excitement.

Dale?

Mm?

I feel... bad. Sometimes. For dragging you into all this, she said, finally mentioning the thing that had been bothering her the past few days.

Into what? he asked, tilting his head to look at her with blue eyes that contrasted with his dark hair.

I don’t know. For making you come here. I mean, I didn’t make you. But it’s because of me that you’re here. And it’s kind of because of me that you can’t go back...

We can’t find the portal.

Yeah. But even if we did... Well you know, we’ve talked about this, she said.

Yeah, I know, he sighed. I’m here with you, aren’t I? he asked, rolling over to face her. Myra turned her head to face him as well and nodded with a smile. That’s enough for me, he finished. Myra’s smile widened and she kissed him.

Did you ever see us actually like this? she asked, staring back up at the ceiling with bright eyes.

What do you mean?

Did you ever see us... you know, in this situation? Like, did you ever see this future coming?

Uh, no, he said, laughing. Myra started laughing too when she realized what she was asking. No, I didn’t ever see us in a different world as King and Queen.

Well, I didn’t mean that, she said, stifling her laugh. When you really think about it, this isn’t very different from what we always imagined.

...How?

"Aside from the being in a different world and the ruling everything part."

And the super powers, he added with a smirk.

And the super powers, she laughed. But besides all that stuff, it’s not that different.

He glanced at her, eyebrows furrowing up just slightly, awaiting further explanation.

We’re together, she said, like this. She pointed back and forth between the two of them. And we’re well-off. She smiled looking at the lavishly decorated bedroom. And I’m the one making the money, kind of. Well I’m the one in charge of things anyway, she smirked.

He smiled and rolled over, kissing her on the cheek and then resting his head on his hand to prop himself up. We always knew you would be the bread winner.

And you would be the stay-at-home dad, she said. They had always joked about their future together, and Myra had made it very clear she would have a career.

So I’m right, she concluded, Things aren’t that different.

I guess you are, he said with a sigh and a smile as he lay his head back down on the pillow, closing his eyes to fall asleep. She watched him for a short time, so happy to be with him, so thankful for their time together.

If only it had lasted. By the time Myra was nine months pregnant the arguing had started. Not full fights yet, but by then it was constant quarreling.

I don’t know what to do about him, Le’pen, Myra said as she sat at Le’pen’s squat table while she potted small plants on her kitchen counter. It had taken much convincing to get Le’pen to move from her home to the house Myra had built for her beside the castle. She’d insisted she keep all her old things and receive nothing new. The house was just as cluttered as the last and equally as charming, though it was slightly bigger and more of a structured building rather than a bird nest.

It is a normal thing to endure, my dear. Very few times does the glove fit the hand perfectly. It takes time to wear it in before it molds to the wearer.

But Dale and I have had time. And it’s gotten harder rather than easier, Myra said, by now very used to Le’pen’s cryptic way of talking.

She shrugged in response. Nothing to do but accept it. You wanted this, remember?

Yes, Myra said with a sigh. I do still want... him. I just...

You are young. It is too early yet, for such stationary ways.

...There’s something else, Myra continued, wishing to change the subject before it became uncomfortable. This had been bothering her for some time now, but she hadn’t had an opportunity to talk to Le’pen about it until then. I had this dream. A very real dream.

Yes? Le’pen encouraged.

It starts in the woods. I don’t know where it is, but it doesn’t look familiar. Then I see Ibadeken. Myra looked over at Le’pen where she had moved on to cutting up some vegetables, checking to see if she was listening. She gave Myra a small nod to continue, the monotonous sound of chopping unwavering. He was just standing off in the distance. And then he... I don’t know, he kind of flinched and then grabbed his chest. But he was turned away so I don’t know exactly what I saw. But it looked like he was hurt. And then he fell over, face down, she finished, looking back at Le’pen who still hadn’t stopped chopping.

Is that all? she asked.

"No, there’s more. Then the picture, or scene, of Ibadeken fades away and there’s this girl. Just her face, just this little girl looking right at me."

In the woods? Le’pen asked.

No. Well, I don’t really know, I don’t think so. Just there. Like I’m seeing her in my head I guess. But I don’t recognize her, or at least not really. There’s something about her though... I don’t know. Then there’s another little girl’s face, a different girl, but they’re about the same age. And then I wake up.

Le’pen nodded, obviously not thinking much of the dream. Well your concern for the boy is not unnoted. We all can see that much. Even those with eyes closed.

Yeah... I guess it’s just odd because... Well I keep having the same dream over and over and I— Myra stopped herself because Le’pen had frozen, the sharp sound of her chopping silenced. She looked at the wall in front of her and took a deep breath through her nose, stretching her chest out and then in as she exhaled.

I see. How often? she finally asked, swallowing.

Every night since the first time it happened.

And how many nights has that been? Le’pen asked as she turned to face Myra.

Um, about four or five I think. Why?

...Nothing. Just a question, she said, and turned back to her vegetables.

It was at that moment that Myra felt her first contraction. Labor was not what she expected it to be. She was rushed into the room that had already been prepared in anticipation. Gill was there. He had returned to the castle a few months prior to take care of Myra during her pregnancy. He helped her through the pain, not only with comforting words, but with medicine that vaguely dulled the jarring sensation of being opened up from the inside out. But just barely. Dale was there the entire time, holding her hand and petting her forehead, trying to remind her that it would be worth it once it was through.

And it was worth it. Myra would have endured ten deliveries if it was necessary to see her baby’s face. She was beautiful. She was as a picture of joy and harmony, squirming and pink, but peaceful nonetheless. And so she was justly named Amity.

Myra’s memories of birth was a blur of horrid pain and struggle, whether because of the drugs or the nature of the birthing process itself, but there was one memory that was sharp and clear in Myra’s head. She had been lying there, half dead it seemed. She knew what it felt like to be halfway to death, and this was extremely similar. Exhaustion, to an extreme that couldn’t be fathomed until it was experienced. She felt broken, like her legs were a ragdoll’s, shoddily sewn on. Gill approached her slowly. Amity was in another room, being washed and measured, and whatever else was standard newborn care. Myra didn’t take notice of the strained look on Gill’s face until he spoke.

Myra, um, he began hesitantly. Myra’s gaze dragged toward him, hoisting her eyelids up with taxing focus. Gill’s brown eyes were tight and his long brown hair was a bit frenzied. Listen, you had a smooth pregnancy. Everything went as is to be expected, and you did wonderfully. You did everything you could during your pregnancy...

Gill, what is it? Myra demanded, her voice haggard from yelling.

Your baby... she’s... she’s blind... And deaf. I... I’m so sorry, he managed.

Myra just stared at him. How can this be? She thought. How? Our baby, she’s supposed to be special. She’s supposed to be...Myra had just gazed away at nothing then while Dale argued with Gill about how this wasn’t possible, and Gill explained in his pragmatic way that it was not only possible, it was.

And just like that, life had given Myra yet another hurtle. It took a few days for her to accept this and to work out what it meant. She had endured so much to prove the prophecy was true. Now it seemed unlikely that this was the answer she was looking for. None of that bothered Myra nearly as much as the simplest of truths; her daughter was handicapped. And here, where medicine and technology was so far behind her old world. Amity, such a precious child, would lead a difficult, trying life, and no amount of effort put forth by Myra could shield her from that. All the same, even with this dragging Myra into despair, it was impossible not to fall in love with her baby, and at least take some comfort in that.

Amity was the purest, most innocent of creatures. Myra let go of the idea that Amity was anything but her baby, nothing special about her aside from the fact that she was, unquestionably, special. Special in a way that every daughter is to their mother, a thing that Myra was only just beginning to understand.

For weeks Myra explored the child’s mind, trying to understand her. The mind of a newborn child was exhaustingly similar to a sieve, constantly taking in thoughts and information only to store it away a second later, all existence passing through the mind in a torrent of shapeless thoughts. But Amity was different from normal children, Myra was sure of that. She was born blind and deaf, but there were other things that only Myra could discover by peering into Amity’s mind.

During the week of bed rest, and the following weeks of constant care to Amity, there was plenty of time for studying her. Still it was tedious work. One afternoon, Myra peered down into the crib. Amity’s eyes, the lightest of blue that were unmistakably her father’s, were staring into Myra’s cool green ones. Amity couldn’t see who stood before her, but she knew who Myra was. She could tell by the way Amity’s emotions turned fond and attached. Inside Amity’s head, Myra read nothing that connected a soundless, faceless figment to the emotional connection she felt.

And then a pang of realization came that a figment was all Myra would be, nameless and meaningless. For how long? When would words be available to Amity? When would Myra be able to teach her daughter that she was her mother?

I’m your mommy. I wish I could tell you that, Myra thought with sorrow.

"Mommy," came the sound and Myra started. It was muddled, a very poor rendition of the word, but Amity had thought it. Myra hadn’t said a thing aloud, and Amity wouldn’t have heard it anyway. And yet, Myra had clearly heard the word. But how? For a moment Myra’s mind whirled with confusion at this new development, and then it became so obviously clear. Amity could read minds. She could hear the inner voice of those around her. That was how she would learn. All was not lost.

Relief washed over Myra, and with the days to follow, also fear for her child. It was soon made clear that not only could Amity not hear or see, but she also could not feel, smell, or taste. She saw things through another sense entirely. A sixth sense.

So the prophecy was true after all.

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Chapter 3

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When Fire Burns Out

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The sixth sense was hard for most people to grasp, but Myra could tell that it was there. Amity saw people not as they would appear to anyone else, but for who they were. Their insides were reflected outward in her eyes. She heard not what people said, but what they thought. The only term for the sixth sense that Myra could come up with was truth. It would forever be impossible to lie to her, because unlike Myra, one couldn’t shield themselves from Amity’s powers. It was simply how she perceived the world. She knew a person from the moment she met them, knew them as well as the person knew themselves, or perhaps even better.

Myra was relieved to discover this, to finally prove the prophecy true, and also provided some hope that Amity could learn to communicate and have some small piece of normal. But it would be a very small piece. Amity’s future would be complicated and difficult. There was no one in the world like her, and she would probably never learn how to interact with other children normally. It was unlikely that she would be able to go about her day without constant supervision. It wasn’t even certain that she would ever gain control over basic functions.

With Amity’s inability to feel, Myra was unsure how she would learn motor control skills. Myra hoped the discovery of Amity’s sixth sense meant that she could eventually learn to walk by seeing through the eyes of others, though it was still too early to tell. The images Myra perceived through Amity’s mind were muddled and hard to make sense of, but she had hope. She had to. Myra had never raised a child before, and now she was expected to do it in this uncharted territory with such a pure, mesmerizing being that she had somehow created. That task was daunting enough alone.

But then there was Dale. Things between them had fully fallen apart by the time Amity was merely two months old.

How could I let this happen? she pleaded to the only person she trusted with her innermost thoughts, Le’pen. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She hated to be such a child, but that was how she felt.

There, there now. Do not be so surprised. It is the way of things. Did I not tell you? There is always doubt.

Myra paused with recollection then. She recalled a time that seemed so distant now. She sat in Le’pen’s old huddled mass of twigs for a house with Ibadeken waiting outside on the stoop. She’d told Le’pen she was sure about Dale, sure that he was the one without a doubt. Le’pen had chastised her then. Now she simply looked sorry at Myra, who thought bitterly that the look was only slightly less discouraging than ‘I told you so’.

She then felt the true reason why her tears were so relentless. She felt like a fool. She’d risked everything for Dale. She put not just her life in danger, but also the lives of her comrades, and the thousands of lives that Great Salen would have taken had she failed. Now things were falling apart. Now she was being proven wrong. How could she face herself when everything she believed in was false?

It isn’t your fault, young one, Le’pen continued. How could you have known? There is nothing to know until it is over and done. No one learns from the mistakes they have yet to make.

I just can’t believe that’s all it was – a mistake.

My, how you mishear me. Not the whole of the whole my dear, not all was for nothing.

How? Myra demanded, her lip curling with desperation as more tears flooded from her.

Amity.

Myra faltered. Le’pen was right, of course, and Myra felt guilty for not having realized it herself. She could never consider Amity a mistake. Amity was possibly the only thing Myra had ever done right.

I know, she sighed, wiping her face. You’re right of course. Amity is...perfect. She’s everything. And the prophecy... I guess that’s what I just don’t understand. Le’pen gave her a questioning look. How can this be happening when the prophecy says— Myra said, cutting herself short.

Le’pen waited for a moment for Myra to finish her statement. When she didn’t, Le’pen took her shoulder in her hand, squeezing lightly. The prophecy said you would marry the strongest Feeler. After seeing that boy and what he can do, none could argue it wasn’t him. And the child is proof, yes indeed. The surest proof there is.

Then why are we falling out of love? Myra cried, her voice growing weaker, making her tears swell up again.

The prophecy said nothing about a forever, my dear, she said gently. She leaned back in her seat next to Myra, observing her with soft dark eyes and thin brows slightly raised on the inner corners. You made the same mistake the world has made, she said, her voice sounding almost tired, regretful. They hear one thing and assume. Always so full of assumptions. Even those that see the future may know not of what it means. As for a prophecy, the before and the after are just as unknown as they ever were. Only the very moment that has been seen is set in stone. You and Dale have fulfilled the prophecy. Nothing else is foretold. You cannot hang onto him because you think it is meant to be. You must listen to yourself.

Myra nodded. "You’re right. I’m right. About Dale, it’s just all wrong between us. Every time we make up there is something else to fight about. And it’s not just that. I don’t...feel anymore. I don’t feel the same things, I don’t feel anything. Except maybe sadness that what I once felt is gone now. But how can I tell that to Amity? How can I let her know? I mean, I know her understanding of this sort of thing is minimal but... I can’t help thinking she’ll pick up on a change between Dale and I."

She knows all, Le’pen said with the same withered expression and a shrug. She knows already what you have only just accepted. It may be wisdom that leads others to shield their children from such things as these, but there is no protection for your daughter.

Myra nodded solemnly, knowing it to be true. What about the people? What will they think?

It is easy to guess. It will fuel the non-believers that start riots only to gain attention and power. They are all hungry for what you have, Myra. They are all hungry for your power, for your seat.

If I thought they could do a better job, I’d give it to them, Myra mumbled.

No one could do a better job than you. Only you have been fair to these people, she said, and her eyes turned to steel, her voice hardening and rising in tempo and pitch. Only you listen to others and take advice. Only you can be all powerful without exercising such facility extraneously. Others, as it has been seen, choke the world with their almighty grip. Only you have such a maidens touch; firm as a mother’s, gentle as a lover’s. As was known years before my time when the prophecy was told. She paused for a brief moment, settling. You should not tell the people. They are not ready.

It’ll stay a secret then. Dale has already moved into the bedroom across the hall. I don’t think there’s anything to tell him. He already knows it’s over. I’ll just have to explain that we have to be separate in secret. Shouldn’t be too difficult. The people who see us every day...well I think they’ve already begun to figure it out, and that’s all right. But the average townspeople don’t have to know, even though I hate to keep it from them...

What business is it of theirs? Who you love? Who you lie down with at night? As long as you rule this land justly, you can keep the rest out of their sight, she said with a bit of callousness in her tone. Myra nodded, determined.

And so had been the plan. Myra talked to Dale, explaining what he already guessed. He understood.

I’m sorry it happened this way, Myra, he said to her quietly as she was about to leave his room.

What? she asked, turning.

He looked at her with true sympathy in his eyes. I’m sorry about how this happened.

It’s not your fault, Dale. It’s no one’s fault. We were rushed into things, and it was amazing while it lasted, she said comfortingly, forcing a smile.

Dale nodded with a small smile in return. It was.

I still love you, you know. Just differently. Actually, I was really hoping we could kind of be... She thought of the word for it.

Friends? he asked her.

Myra nodded, though it was a weak term for what she was looking for. She still cared about Dale, and she supposed she always would, she just wasn’t in love with him anymore. Their love had been a blazing fire so strong that even from the distances they once endured, it burned on. But after so much time had passed, it changed them, so that when they were reunited and smothered together, the fire was stifled. The harder it tried to burn, the more oxygen it wasted, and soon it found itself dying down until there was nothing left but warm embers. The fire may have been gone, but the warmth was still there in the hearth. The outer layers of what made a marriage had died away, but the bond remained.

Best friends, she added, though still it was a feeble word for what she meant. She knew he understood though, by the way he smiled fondly and stood up to see her to the door.

I have to wake Amity from her nap soon for dinner. I’ll see you in the dining hall, he said and she gave a shy smile before nodding her head goodbye.

That was it. Dale and Myra were no more.

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Chapter 4

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Decision

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That had been three weeks ago. Three weeks since Myra and Dale considered each other a couple. Nearly three months since Amity had come into the world. Over a year since Ibadeken had sailed away. And the dreams continued on still.

Myra rubbed her face thoughtfully and stared down at her lap. Her hair was long now, down to her waist, and as rich brown as ever. She contemplated the need to cut it, but only to distract herself from what she was really thinking. Her eyes shifted from the white fabric of her dress to the cobblestone path. She knew that if she followed it through the garden she would reach Le’pen’s house.

There had been a condition for having a house built for Le’pen and most of her necessities provided. She had insisted upon being installed as some kind of worker for the castle. So she was the gardener and Myra was thankful for the decision. No one could have sculpted a more perfect harmony between purposeful placement of flora and the flow of nature. The gardens looked as if they had grown there on their own but were too perfect for that observation to be true.

Myra finally stood and walked down the path, the ends of her dress swished lightly across the stones. She lifted her skirt so it wouldn’t drag, not wanting the white to fade or be ruined by the dark ground beneath her. It was her favorite dress, the bodice fitting her perfectly and comfortably, and then flowing away flatteringly at her waist. She missed wearing it when she was pregnant and was pleased to find that she had made it back to her original size.

When she reached Le’pen’s house, she gave a short knock for the sake of politeness and then opened the door. She never bothered to announce herself anymore since Le’pen always knew when Myra was coming anyway.

How is the Queen on this crisp morning? Le’pen asked cheerily.

I’m well. Troubled. But well, she answered, moving into the room and sitting down at the table. Le’pen was cooking something for breakfast over a small fire. The smell both reminded Myra that she was hungry and made her lose her appetite at the same time.

What troubles you? Le’pen asked, sipping her concoction and adding in a bit of spice.

The dreams are getting worse and worse. It seems like every time I have the dream the emotions get harder to bear. It feels like... like a... count down. Like one night I’ll have the dream and I’ll just...explode. Never wake up.

Kergnut seed! Le’pen scoffed. Never has a young lady exploded from a dream. Your mind however, is quite susceptible to such troubles. Be warned. So much worry is likely to wrinkle your fingers and split the ends of your hair.

I can’t help it; that’s what I’m trying to say. The feelings are... they’re a part of the dream. It doesn’t matter that I know what’s coming. Each time I feel the same way. For the past few days they’ve been so strong, I’ve felt sick from them when I wake up. Le’pen, it’s like they’re—Myra stopped herself because she was unsure of what she was trying to say.

Go on, Le’pen encouraged hoarsely, her face having gone serious. Say it. You know what they are. Say it.

I think I can see the future, Myra said. It was then that she realized how sure of it she was. She hadn’t known fully what she had come to Le’pen to say, but now it was clear. All along she had known these dreams were something, but now that she said it aloud it was as if her suspicions were confirmed.

Le’pen nodded and stepped away from her cooking toward the table. And you think the dreams are not merely dreams, but things to come? she asked, sitting down on a stool next to Myra. I have suspected the same thing for quite some time now..

Why didn’t you say something?

You wouldn’t have believed me, Le’pen answered tiredly.

Yes I would have!

Le’pen shrugged and let her lower lip pucker out slightly. You had to know it yourself before it could be true enough to believe, my Queen. Now you know, so the process is a simple matter of the past. The question to ask is what to do with this?

I don’t know.

Lying will only get you out to weed, she responded coldly.

Fine. You’re right, I do know...

Well out with it then.

I have to find Ibadeken. I have to.

Who are you convincing? Me or you?

...Both. But I really do know it’s true. I can’t sit around here waiting for the day that the visions stop coming. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I would go crazy. I have to at least see it.

What if you see what you wish you did not?

This took a moment for Myra to interpret. What if I see him die?

Le’pen nodded.

Then at least I’ll know. At least I can be sure, if I see it. But with these visions, I don’t know anything. Except that he’s in trouble. And – Well there is something else too. The faces I see...