Foretellers (The Ydron Saga Book 3) (8 page)

Pandy shook her head. She glanced past Salmeh at the children and noticed the boy was watching her. When their eyes met, the boy brushed a lock of hair aside and smiled.

“I’m Broodik,” he said.

His sister ran up to Pandy and said, “I’m Halli.” When Pandy told them her own, Halli took her hand and said, “Come. I want you to meet our friend, Bedistai.”

Pandy shot an inquiring glance, and Salmeh nodded.

“Go ahead.”

The three struck off, but after only a few steps, Pandy halted. A chill ran through her and she turned back to face them.

“Harad is coming.”

“What do you mean, child?”

“He knows where I am and he is coming to get me.”

Salmeh looked from Pandy to Peniff, whose face darkened.

“Is that possible?” Salmeh asked.

“He is like me,” Peniff said. “He knows our thoughts.”

“Is he coming now?” asked Salmeh, her face clouding over with worry.

“No. Not now and not alone, but eventually,” said Pandy.

Peniff drew her aside.

“I think we should talk,” he said. “Pandy can meet Bedistai later,” he told his children.

Pandy nodded and he led her to the village’s edge where Mostoon’s well-tended vegetable gardens kept No’eth’s untamed expanse at bay.

“You’ve just come into your own,” he said when they arrived.

Unsure if this were a statement or a question, Pandy cocked her head. “How did you know?”

“You’re becoming a woman. The time most people like us begin leaving childhood is the time our abilities start to emerge.”

“Like us? You mean you’re a foreteller? I thought you were a thought gazer.”

“Telepath,” he corrected. “I hate the labels people hang on us. I am a telepath and you are a prescient. In Dethen, there is a telekine.” When she looked at him oddly because she did not recognize the term, he explained, “Someone who moves objects with his mind. It really doesn’t matter. We’re basically the same: people who use our minds in ways the rest of the world cannot.

“For the most part, we begin to come into our fullness at about the time we begin to mature physically. Although I have to confess, I was different from most. I had some telepathic episodes almost from the time I was born and they continued throughout my childhood. Even so, they weren’t consistent. They were like the tiny flashes you see when you rub a piece of wool in the dark. They were never like that brilliance that wakes you one morning and transforms your existence, the light that illuminates your mind and reveals a world you never knew was there.”

Pandy nodded, recognizing at once his description.

“Suddenly you’re apart from the rest,” Peniff said. “Try as you may, you will never be one of them again.”

He bent so they were now eye-to-eye, forcing Pandy to focus on his words.

“You have to learn to become strong, because the farther you grow into power, the more removed you will be from the rest of the world.”

He tilted his head and studied her.

“Is it hard for you?” he asked.

The question caught her by surprise. No one had ever asked her that. It showed he understood her the way only her mother did. That he appeared to comprehend soothed her almost as much as his question pierced her to her soul. On one hand, it assured her she was not all alone, while on the other it shone a light on her increasing difference. Even before she had revealed herself in danTennet, long before even her mother was aware, Pandy’s difference began to poke through from time to time and started alienating her from her peers.

She sighed. Even as Peniff confirmed she was fine, not the freak she sometimes considered herself, the pain of her growing isolation suddenly erupted and she burst into tears. At the time in her life when she needed her peers’ friendship most, all her difficulties came crashing down.

Pandy could not bear it any longer. What she had done to her mother stabbed her in the heart with overwhelming guilt. The fact that she saw Harad murdering her mother as distinctly as she saw Cargath’s assailant the moment before he struck did nothing to alleviate her remorse. Was she so certain events would evolve in the manner she had envisioned?

Yet, even as doubts surfaced, a part of her knew that they would have. Even as she clung to Peniff’s tunic, shaking with each sob, she knew in her heart she had acted correctly. She knew it with the same certainty she knew she was awake. And while that knowledge did nothing to alleviate her pain, she realized that, given the chance, she would have repeated every act and the certainty she felt began to calm her. Her shrieks turned to sobs and her body’s quaking softened into shudders. As her fists lost their grip and her crying quieted, Peniff patted her on the back.

“That won’t be the last time,” he said. “There will be many more occasions for you to grieve. Over time, you will grow more accustomed, but the responsibility won’t sit any lighter.”

She looked at him questioningly.

“What I’m trying to say is that you must continue to make decisions based on your foreknowledge of events. You may fret over your actions’ consequences, but you must learn to live with your beliefs. Trust me when I tell you the guilt you will feel from watching the preventable transpire when you neglect to follow what you know, will far outweigh whatever doubts arise after doing what you must.”

Pandy wiped her eyes.

“There was no other way,” she said.

“Of course there wasn’t.”

She stood upright and gazed south. Far away, in lands she had never seen, a future unfolded as she watched. Mother was there, although many possibilities stood between their present situations and any eventual reunion. More important, she understood, was her unfolding destiny. If she acted with care, if she did not allow her emotions to interfere, she had the ability to influence the outcomes of many more important events.

“Do you see what I see?” she asked.

“I try not to pry into other people’s thoughts,” he replied.

“Please look. There is too much to explain and it’s important you know what I am seeing.”

Peniff nodded and soon the expression on his face changed from curiosity to concern.

“When the time is right, you must come with me,” she said, knowing he shared her vision. “I’m too young to do this by myself.”

He looked at her, grimaced as he nodded, and Pandy knew she had never seen anyone sadder that Peniff appeared now.

“Let’s go back,” he said and his body seemed to sag.

When he turned to go, she noticed he was limping.

The two walked in silence. Peniff’s pursed lips and downcast eyes suggested how much Pandy’s revelation troubled him. How could it not, she wondered, after he had presented such a case for why she should trust what she saw? As a thought gazer—telepath, she corrected—he would have seen what unfolded before her. This vision, like the revelation in danTennet, was—how had he described it?—“the brilliance that wakes you one morning and transforms your existence.” While it hadn’t exactly awakened her, it was beyond any doubt transformative and every bit as clear and substantial as the world through which they both now walked. At that, her fears subsided, knowing she had acted correctly aboard the ship, despite being unable to see her action’s eventual repercussions. For the first time since that had transpired, she began to feel confident and at peace.

They wound between the houses until they arrived at one so similar to Salmeh’s that Pandy wondered if the same hand had constructed this one too. Plastered with the same color clay, its roof thatched in the identical style, the single story structure appeared to accommodate the same number of rooms.

A man and two women were conversing outside, too absorbed to notice Pandy and Peniff approach. The women were attired in the fabrics and styles of other lands, much out of place here. The younger one had the prominent cheekbones and sensuous lips Pandy often longed to grow into, and her wavy brown hair cascaded down past her shoulders, almost to the middle of her back. As for the older one, were it not for her scowl and the lines on her face, Pandy believed she might have thought of her as pretty. She was turning her attention towards the man when she noticed both women bore bruises. Were it not for the perilous times, such marks would have alarmed her. Now, they were almost to be expected, at best a cause for curiosity.

The man standing with them was clearly Haroun. His unbound hair hung well past his shoulders and he wore an animal hide about his waist, below the bandage encircling his middle. With a better musculature than any man Pandy had ever seen, his near naked form both embarrassed and aroused her. She felt her face flush and the unfamiliar warmth coursing through her body made it hard not to stare. Embarrassed, she wanted to turn and walk away before her discomfort became evident. Even so, she remained at Peniff’s side as they drew near.

As they approached, the older woman startled, as if someone had tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled, then smiled when she noticed Peniff.

“I thought it was you,” she said and the two she was with turned as well.

“Peniff!” the Haroun exclaimed.

“You’ve brought a friend,” the younger woman added, staring at Pandy with undisguised curiosity.

Peniff placed a hand on her shoulder.

“This is Pandy,” he said. He chuckled and added, “She should have been with us when we entered barakMis. The girl is a prescient.”

“Really?” the younger woman said, inclining her head as she appraised her. “How did you come to Mostoon? Are your parents here?”

“No,” replied Pandy, then sketched an account of the past several days, adding at the end, “My father died when I was a baby.”

Although that comment elicited sympathy, her mention of Harad drew an even stronger response. She was surprised to learn that they all knew the man and her assurance he posed no immediate threat helped quiet their concerns.

Peniff introduced the older woman as his wife, Miened; the younger he introduced as Darva, sister of the warlord, Obah Sitheh. Darva expressed concern over Pandy’s solitary state until Peniff revealed how Salmeh had almost adopted her. The conversation confirmed the Haroun was Salmeh’s son, Bedistai.

“It’s nice to see you’re up and around,” Peniff told him. “You had me worried.”

“It’s good to be moving.”

“What happened to you?” Pandy asked, now that his injury had become mentionable. Looking from Bedistai to Miened to Darva, then back again to Peniff, she asked, “What happened to all of you?”

Miened explained about the abductions, how Darva had been taken hostage by Kael’s minions in an attempt to force her brother to surrender. She related how, after Bedistai had rescued her, Harad, at Kael’s direction, had recruited Peniff to locate the pair. To insure his cooperation, Kael had ordered Miened and her children imprisoned.

“So he kidnapped you as well?” Pandy asked.

Peniff nodded. “That seems to be his primary occupation.”

Miened went on to explain how, after Darva was reunited with her brother, Peniff and Bedistai had brought a group of Haroun hunters to barakMis. After freeing his family, he brought them to Mostoon. The four were casualties of those events, she explained, Bedistai most of all.

While Pandy considered the account, Peniff inquired about the Haroun’s current condition. Bedistai placed a hand on his bandage and said, “As you can see, I’m still recovering.” Regarding Peniff in turn, he asked, “And you, my friend?”

Peniff avoided the question and, instead, drew Miened aside. Although Pandy could not make out their words, as the conversation wore on, she could see Miened’s expression transform from curiosity to distress. Her lips clenched, tears ran down her cheeks and she shook her head with increasing vehemence each time Peniff spoke.

“No!” she finally exclaimed. “I won’t let you.”

“Please, Miened… ”

“I won’t hear of it. You reunite us only to leave us again? What kind of man are you?”

Peniff’s mouth opened, but before he could explain, Miened turned away. She remained with her back to him for almost a minute. Then, when the awkwardness grew unbearable, she turned back to face him.

In a quieter tone, she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Even so, the silence continued and Pandy was searching for something to say when Peniff said, “There is no other way.”

“How do you know?”

“You know how I know,” he replied, side-stepping the obvious.

Miened glanced at Pandy.

“She’s just a child. Are you going to leave us based on a child’s flight of fancy?”

Peniff shook his head. “She’s not wrong.”

Distraught but resigned, Miened’s shoulders drooped and she wrapped her arms around herself.

“She has to go south to Liad-Nur,” he continued. “War or no war, she’s too young to do it on her own.”

“What about… ?” Miened indicated the hunter with a jerk of her head.

“Bedistai? I’m sure he would choose to accompany her under different circumstances, but look at him. The man is barely alive. He’s lucky he made it home.”

“One of the others can go in his place,” argued Miened.

“One of the Haroun?” Peniff scoffed. “Those lands and their ways are completely beyond their experience and none of them can protect her as I can.”

“And your children? What will you tell Broodik and Halli?”

“I will tell them the truth.”

Refusing to meet his eyes, she slumped even more, her posture reflecting defeat as again they both lapsed into silence.

By way of distraction, Darva asked Pandy, “What about Harad? Are you certain he’s coming?”

Pandy nodded. “Eventually, but not now. When he does, it will be with an army.”

Darva laughed and turned to Bedistai. “If he does, he’s a fool. The last time he came to Mostoon, you humiliated him.”

“He has a score to settle,” Bedistai replied.

“Then he will fail,” Darva said.

“Why so?” Peniff asked.

Darva recounted the reason Bedistai had given on that earlier occasion. The land was so riddled with hills and valleys no general could possibly keep track of his troops, let alone his enemy’s whereabouts.

“But when the general is a telepath like Harad,” said Peniff, “that all changes. The terrain will make communication difficult and the going will be slow, but Harad will be able to assess both sides’ positions.”