4They say any female child born when it is neither night nor day will be gifted with the Sight. The Sight, for those who do not know, is the ability to part the veils of time to see what can be seen. It is a belief that those who are seers can only tell the future, but this is a misconception for they can also see the past and present.
Many people long to have this gift so they can foresee small details of their own lives, but they have not spent night after night lying awake, fearing what horrors they might witness when they let their conscious mind rest and their subconscious take over. They have not watched as those they love are brutally murdered or tortured before their eyes over and over again in dreams that seem so tangible that they don't realize that it is a vision until they wake. And they do not understand the pain of one day finding their dream a reality and that there was nothing that they could have done to prevent it. People are foolish to think that seers are blessed. The Sight is a burden that no person should have to bear.
At one time, there was a great guild of these cursed seers. They were known as the Solie Nar, which means daughters of the sun in the sacred language. They were said to have traveled around the Four Blessed Kingdoms six years after every solar eclipse in search of new apprentices. Each apprentice would take a vow of celibacy so they would remain pure and able to have their visions.
King and peasant alike would come to this village of women in search of guidance and counsel. Many of the great wars that have carved out our lands have been won over the word of a Solie Nar. It was said that the first ruler of the Four Blessed Kingdoms, King Eyad, for whom my father was named, had one of their number as his private oracle. It was on the day of his death that she spoke the prophecy of the Four Blessed Kingdoms, and it was that prophecy that shaped my life.
Some years ago, there was a great fire, which killed almost every single one of the Solie Nar. Almost. My mother, Phaera, was one of the last of these great seers. She, herself, would have died if not for my father, who was, at the time, the young prince of Anesty, (the largest and most influential of the kingdoms). He had found her in the forest one day, burned and starving, and he put her up on his horse and rushed her back to his castle where he saw to her care. With her skin like fresh milk, hair like liquid fire, and eyes that were deep green like the forest in which he found her, she was unlike any woman he had ever seen; a tiger among common house cats, he used to say. She had captured his soul and my father knew that he could never love anything as much as he loved her.
They were wed not long after she was healed. It was a private ceremony, for my mother was always nervous around large amounts of unfamiliar people. At first, many citizens, including my grandparents, did not approve of this union. Some thought that she was some faerie or sorceress that had enchanted their young, beloved prince to make him love her. Others thought that she might be a D'mari spy since she had such a pale complexion while the people of Anesty all had well-tanned skin. I don't know what changed their minds about her, but after some time these beliefs dissipated and everyone came to love her and look on her with respect and awe. Maybe it was because they realized that she was one of the Solie Nar, or maybe it was some other reason.
By the time I was born, at the winter solstice, six years after my brother Malik, the old king and queen had died from the fever. As the new king, my father was always busy rebuilding alliances and securing his borders against the D'mari barbarians. My mother, on the other hand, avoided councils and public gatherings like the plague and only went when it was absolutely necessary. I know that my father often wished for her opinion at his conferences, but at the time, it was a belief that a man who asked for his wife's council was considered weak and unfit to rule. And, since she hated having to dress up just to sit still and say nothing, she would spend all her time with my brother and me.
Every night she would tell us a tale before we slept. She had such a way with words that she could make even the most heartless person laugh or shed a tear. I often wondered if she'd make them up in her spare time as she never told the same tale twice unless we requested a favorite. Malik liked the ones with brave warriors and heroic conquests the best, while I loved whimsical ones with faeries and mysterious travelers. He always made a face at those kinds of stories, saying that the only tales worth listening to were the realistic ones, but I knew that he really did like them. My particular favorite was the one about the young princess of the Kingdom of Dreams, Aislinn.
"Her mother and father would be out all night and all morning bringing dreams to the people of the world, leaving little Aislinn all on her own," my mother would say in a voice like smooth velvet as she stroked my hair. "Now, to say that she was all on her own would not be right, for she had hundreds of nursemaids to look after her, but none of them were her friends. She always felt quite lonely. All that she wanted was to go off with her parents to bring dreams to everyone all night and all morning, but she was too young yet.
"One night, as she looked up at the red moon, for the moon in the Kingdom of Dreams was red, and she wished that she could no longer be alone. And just as she thought this, she saw the walls of her nursery fall away and her nursemaids disappear. Her plain night-shift transformed into the most beautiful gown made from the most delicate swan feathers of the softest white and tiny stars of the palest blue. Then she stepped off the windowsill that she had been sitting on and walked into the open sky."
"Mommy," I would intervene, "How can she step into the sky?"
"You forget, Nimah, that she is the daughter of the king and queen of dreams. Aislinn can do many things that we cannot," She would reply patiently. "Now, when the little princess stepped into the sky, she was swept away on a breeze and carried was off to the red moon. Once she reached it's surface, she realized that the moon was not, in fact, red, but was covered in rose petals. She looked about, wide-eyed like a young pup. All around her were people dressed up in beautiful gowns and robes of the most vibrant colors. Upon their faces were the most wonderful masks, such as she had never seen before. She stood there in awe at the masquerade before her.
"Then a man in a robe that was every color and at the same time no color came up to her and took her hand to lead her to the edge of a shimmering lake. There, he bowed to her and kissed her hand before gently pulling her out onto the water. She had expected to sink, but miraculously, she glided over the surface like the swan of whose feathers she was wearing. Then the most beautiful music began to play and she began to dance with the masked man before her. And they danced and danced all night and Aislinn had never been happier in her life.
"Then she saw the sun come up over the horizon of the rose petal covered moon and she knew that she must return before her parents did. So the young man in the robe that was every color and no color led her off the lake dance floor. Once they were back into the rose petals, he placed a talisman over her head so that it hung over her heart and told her that if she ever wanted to return, all that she would have to do was to hold it in her hand and she would fly back on the wind. She thanked him and kissed him on the cheek before she stepped into the sky once more and sailed back to her nursery. And now, every time there is a new moon Aislinn goes out and dances the night away and the reason it is all dark is because she does not wish her parents to find out."
"But mommy?" Malik would whine. "Why did she kiss him?"
"Because she felt like it," I would retort, always angry when he would ruin a good story with a remark like that.
My mother would just laugh in a way that sounded like the little bells on the royal carriages. I loved her laugh; it felt like home.
When I was eight and a half, my mother was with child again. Everyone worried that she was too old to have a safe delivery. They told her that she should drink teas to lose the baby, but she just smiled and said that if she was pregnant than there was a reason for it. She was so happy then. She would always sing and make tiny garments. My father seemed at peace too.
Then she had a vision. She never told us what she saw, but we knew that it had shaken her. My brother thought that it had to do with the prophecy, but he was clueless. I knew it had to be about the baby. There was something wrong.
She shut herself into her rooms afterward and stopped making clothes for the child. Her meals became smaller and smaller and her skin took on a pallid, sickly color. She would not see anyone with the exception of my father, my brother and I, and even then, our visits were short. I suppose that I was grateful that they were, for I hated being in her room. It smelled like death and hopeless vulnerability. When I was there I felt like all the life was slowly being sucked out of me. It made me feel old and as frail as a hatchling.
She was slipping away and we where all worried for her. At first I cried a lot; almost every night, but then I realized that there was nothing I could do and that my tears were useless. I stopped grieving and sobbing and being sad then. I moved on with my life as if she had already died. It is a horrible thing to say, but it is true. When you know deep down that there is no hope, it is a good idea to sever any bonds before the pain becomes too unbearable.
That is why, I think, I was calm when the baby came three weeks early; when they could not get the bleeding to stop; when the baby died; when my mother's screams tore my father and brother apart. I did not shed one tear. I just stayed in my room and stared at my stone ceiling, wishing that it would swallow me. I wanted to escape to the red moon where a masquerade would be waiting for me. I knew what was happening, but my mother was already dead to me and this just felt like a bad dream; Like an echo of the past. And I did not cry.
She did not end up dying, but she was weak. She had to be fed and bathed and her speech was slurred and incoherent. My mother, Phaera, the last of the Solie Nar, was loosing herself. I had always seen her as a strong person mentally, but her mind was slipping away into the abyss. I did not cry.
Sometimes I would sit with her. I did not speak to her with words for I knew that she could not understand them. Instead, I used my mind. I filled her head with memories and words of comfort. I don't know if it did any good or if she even heard me, but I'd like to think I had some effect.
Those times were hazy to me, like a dream, and I am not sure if I actually sat with her and held her hand, or if it was just a vision. Maybe she did die the day her baby died or even before. Maybe I was just imagining her. I used to think that. It wasn't till later that I really believed that those hours with her were real.
Slowly she got stronger and stronger. She still couldn't talk right, but it was getting better and she could eat by herself. I could see the light return to my father's eyes and the color return to his skin. He looked younger and I was happy. But my mother was still dead. The bond was still severed and would remain so. I did not want to get hurt if I could help it. Maybe I should not have distanced myself from her like I did. Maybe I should have not been so afraid of that room and the dark chill that always loomed there. It's too late to go back now, in any rate. I suppose I should stop fretting about it. She's gone now and there's nothing I can do about it.
Not dead, just gone. I remember the night that she disappeared as distinctly as if it happened just yesterday. It was midwinter, my ninth birthday, and the whole palace was in celebration. My mother was absent at the festivities. It was to be expected, for although she was improving, she still was not herself. As it grew late, my father ordered us to bed.
My brother and I marched up the stairs together. He was talking merrily about some girl he had danced with. I smiled bitterly and let him rattle on, making no comment. In truth, I did not like the idea of my brother, who was just entering manhood, with a girl. He had always been my best friend and I liked being number one in his life. I did not want some dull, well-mannered noble's daughter getting in the way.
I dug my hands into the pockets of my gown as we rounded a corner and reached the door to our parent's room. Malik fell silent.
"Do you think we should say good night?" I asked him, hoping with all my being that he'd think of some reason to pass by that room and to go straight to ours.
"Yes," he replied solemnly. I nodded reluctantly. My heart dropped with dread as I reached my little hand out and turned the door handle. We stepped inside and stood quietly by the wall. The room was so dark that only the outline of the bed was visible.
Something wasn't right; I could feel it. I could feel it in every fiber of my being. I peered through the darkness for an answer, but I couldn't see anything. I considered going up to the bed, but when that thought crossed my mind, a picture of my mother's pain distorted face flared before my eyes. I felt sick as I clung to my brother's arm, unable to will myself to walk over to the bed.
"Mother?" Malik called out softly. "Are you awake?" There was no response. "Maybe she's asleep," he whispered in my ear.
"No," I said softly, knowing somewhere deep down that she was not. Then my head swam and I swayed dangerously from side to side. The whole room spun around and around before me and I felt as if I would vomit. Feeling myself falling, I closed my eyes and waited for the impact, but none came. I seemed to be floating in space.
Slowly, I cracked one eyelid open and peered out. Everything was a black haze. Then I felt a cold hand on my shoulder. I whipped around, opening my eyes fully and I saw her. She was dressed in white silk. Her hair flew out in all directions like a halo of fire and her green eyes bore into mine. My mother did not look sick or in pain like I had seen her in the past. She seemed healthy, maybe even happy.
"My child," she said in her voice like smooth velvet, "I am sorry that I had to leave you now. I wish that I could have stayed longer, but that is not the way of things. I have left to ensure that the future plays out as it is supposed to. The prophecy must be fulfilled.
"I want you and your brother to help you father for he will not understand why I must do this. Make sure he does not lose himself. Also, I need for you to look after each other. You both have a hard road ahead. You especially, Nimah."
I tried to talk to her then, but my voice failed to work. I glared at the figure in front of me. What are you saying? Aren't you coming home? I thought furiously, hoping that she would understand me. My mother laughed her little laugh that reminded me of bells.
"No, Nimah. I am not coming home. I shall never return. My purpose for being here is over and I must leave. You will understand later why this has to happen."
Will I ever see you again? I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. No! I screamed at myself. No, no, no! This is a dream. She is dead! She is dead! She died with the baby. You will not cry…. don't cry.
"Maybe, if time is kind to us," she continued. "But not everything is certain. Nothing is certain until it happens, you must remember that. You can change fate if you are strong enough."
Could I have changed your fate? Could I have made you stay?
"It has already happened. There is no point in dwelling on what might have been."
"Nimah! Nimah!" I could hear my brother calling me, but is seemed distant, like an echo. He was crying.
"It seems you must go now and so must I. I have left some things for you in the chest at the foot of the bed. The key is under my pillow. It is important that you study it and learn it and not let anyone see you. No one should know."
Study and learn what?
"Nimah stop it. You are scaring me!" His voice was closer and louder."You're hurting me."
"Farewell, my child," my mother said before her figure faded, leaving me in the darkness.
"Nimah!" I felt a cold, sweaty palm grab my hand, wrenching me back to reality. My mind felt like it was being split in two and I collapsed onto the stone floor, hitting my head hard. I clutched it and curled up into a ball, as if in an attempt to cradle it.
"What happened?" I whispered feebly, my eyes shut tight.
"I don't know," Malik's words were strained as if through clenched teeth. "You went very still and I could hear you talking in my mind; Asking questions. And it hurt. I felt like my head was on fire. What did you see Nimah?"
"It was mother," I said softly. "She spoke to me. She told me everything will be ok and that she had to leave."
"I don't understand."
"She said that she left to make sure the future happened like it was supposed to," I said as I struggled to sit up. I massaged my temples.
"She is coming back, right?"
"No," I murmured, taking a deep breath. When I did that, I felt instantly better and my head cleared somewhat. It was clear enough to remember that I had to get whatever it was that was in that trunk out while no one was looking. As soon as people found out that my mother was gone, this room would never be empty. I knew that now was my only chance. "You should go get Father," I said.
"Alright. Stay here then," He placed his hand on my head for a second and I looked up into his face. He looked like he was going to cry, but I knew he wouldn't. Then he walked out of the door and shut it behind him.
I knew what I had to do now. I stood up, putting my hand on the wall for support, and walked slowly over to the bed. When I got there, I sat down on the bed and collected myself. I took a few deep breaths before I lifted the pillow to expose a small silver key on a chain. I grabbed it in my little nine-year-old hand and scooted myself down the length of the bed to the chest which was at the foot.
Getting up, I moved to kneel in front of it. With shaking hands, I placed the key into the keyhole and turned it until I heard a soft click then I opened it. The chest was empty. I frowned at it. This isn't right. There was supposed to be something here. I thought, frustrated. I ran my hands over the bottom of the trunk, feeling a tear run down my cheek. It was the last sign of my mother and it wasn't there. No! Don't cry!
It was then, as I clawed at the bottom of the chest that I felt it. A small deviation in the wood just big enough to stick a finger into. I jammed my pinky into it and pulled up with all my strength. The bottom flew out, almost hitting me in the face. I moved the plank out of the way and found a small package wrapped in parchment lying there on the floor. I grabbed it with my little hands a looked it over. I was about to unwrap it when I heard footsteps in the hallway.
As fast as I could, I put the plank back in place and shut the top. As the door opened I shoved the parcel into the folds of my skirt and sat down on the floor. My father burst into the room, dark skin glowing with emotion. He rushed over to the open window and looked out into the night. Silent tears were running down his face.
"I knew she would leave me," he whispered into the dark.
"Father?" I asked hesitantly. " Are you-"
"Go to bed, Nimah!" He snapped, his voice like a whiplash. I flinched, then rose to my feet and did as I was told. I would try to talk to him tomorrow. I knew he needed to be on his own now.
When I got to my room I sat down on my bed and pulled out the package and impatiently tore it open. There were three things there: a book, a letter, and a necklace. The letter was addressed to my father and the pendant I felt was not intended for me, so I reached for the book. It was big, thick, and leather-bound. It seemed ordinary enough. I opened it and turned to the first page. It said: The D'mari Language in big bold letters. I stared at it in shock. My mother intended for me to learn the tongue of our enemy? This was ludicrous! I pushed the book away. There was no way that I would learn that! Besides, if I was caught, I would be disowned. If I was caught…. If I was caught…. this thought played over and over in my head. The idea of hiding doing something against the rules and trying not to get caught appealed to me. It was a rush. But no! When would I ever use it?
I will use it, a voice inside my head said. If mother wanted me to learn it, there has to be a reason.
But if I was caught…
It would be fun. Secrets are fun. It would be a responsibility. Something for only you and no one else.
But.. But..
Do it.
"Fine!" I yelled at myself. So I grabbed the leather-bound book and began studying.
I gave my father the letter the next day, but he did not read it. I also tried talking to him afterwards, but he was like an empty shell. There was nothing of him left. He lost his love; love of us, of himself, and love of all the beautiful things. All that was left was a ruthless leader. He would spend all his time planning campaigns and building alliances. He left no time for Malik and me.
We were cared for by our nursemaids, and each other. He would not let me talk to him. He would not let anyone through the tight net that he had thrown over himself. The only time that we ever got to see him was once a month when he would inspect us to see how much we were learning. I hated those visits because my father was not there. King Eyad was there. But my kind, loving father was gone and the man he had become no longer deserved that title. It was as if everyone I loved was ripped away from me. It was all her fault. She chose to leave. It was not as if she had to. If she had not left everything would have been fine and I would not be so alone. Don't cry!
A few years later, when Malik was considered a man, he joined my Eyad in his meetings and helped him to plan campaigns. The king looked on him with respect and he no longer had to undergo his inspections. I, however, was not spared. He looked at me with a sadness in his eyes and bitterness in his tight mouth.
I did not know why he looked at me thus until one of my instructors told me that I was looking more and more like my mother every day. I understood then. He hated me because I reminded him of what he lost. I hated him too. Why couldn't he see that I was not my mother? I was his daughter. My skin was not pale but lightly tanned, and my hair not a bright, shining red like fire, but a darker red like gold tainted with dark blood. I was not my mother.
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