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A MISSING PIECE TO THE PUZZLE
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THE MOUNTAIN’S CHILL seeped into her bones. The path was rough and gravelly under her bare feet, but not even that deterred her. With another shaky step, Savara lost her balance entirely, tumbling deeper into the cave. She was reminded of a story in which a girl fell down a rabbit hole, but she’d never imagined the pain such an adventure would bring.
Savara tried holding onto the walls to steady herself, but this far down, they were made of a slippery, polished, black granite that was impossible to cling to. As she lost all notion of up and down, Savara wondered how much further she would have to fall.
The cold that surrounded her suddenly gave way to a refreshing springtime warmth that sent goose bumps down her arms and spine. In that same instant, she hit the surprisingly solid ground with a loud thud that sent a cloud of loose dirt billowing around her. When it finally settled and she’d coughed out whatever had managed its way into her lungs, she looked up to find the blazing mountain sun above her.
Around her, the world was surprisingly green—a plush patch of grass, surrounded by little pockets of bubbling magma and rimmed by fields of crystals glimmering in the morning light. The vibration of everything, from the walls that stretched high above to the tiniest blade of grass below her told her that this strange place was alive. Even the heat of the place was different from anything she’d ever felt before.
Spirit. The word arrived in her mind all on its own. It buzzed around her invisibly, tingling the little hairs on the nape of her neck and pulsing at the base of her spine. There was power here, more than she could have ever imagined.
“What is this place?” she whispered.
Suddenly, a wall of stone crumbled away, and two figures emerged from a different dark tunnel. An elderly Harri gentleman with a salt and peppered beard that Savara vaguely recognised, and behind him, a young Izar she knew well.
“Griffin!” she called to him, forgetting the man she’d followed here and wondering how in the world they’d found her. He didn’t look as happy to see her as she was to see him. “How did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t,” he admitted, scratching lightly at the back of his neck. He tilted his head towards the elderly man he’d accompanied.
“You...” she said, contemplating the man she’d met at the dinner under a new light. His spirit hummed with the same force as the room around them.
“A pleasure to formally meet you, Savara,” he replied. “My name is Ori, and your friend tells me you need my help.”
Savara glanced over at Griffin for confirmation. He had been avoiding her gaze for most of the conversation, but now he stared at her head on, silently pleading she gain his trust. She wondered if Griffin had seen them talking at the dinner, or if it had all been a coincidence.
“Forgive me, sir, for not having introduced myself when we met,” she said with a bob of her head.
Ori looked disheartened as he spoke. “Do you not remember me, child?” he frowned.
Savara shook her head. “I lost all memories of my childhood.” She recounted the parts of her life she remembered and others she’d been told, hoping to provide some clarity on the issue. She glazed over the parts with the mafia and her powers—and of course the scar on her cheek—but she explained what she knew of the planned attack on Idune.
“May I see your hand?” was all he asked after her tale. Savara brandished her wrist for him to see. He raised it to his all-jade eye. “Thank you, for your honesty. I thought I might not see a mark like this again in my lifetime...” He sighed. “I almost hoped I didn’t.”
Savara withdrew her hand. “What does it mean?”
“It means your friend is right, and that we will not be the only ones to suffer at the hands of war.” Ori stroked his beard as he contemplated the strange turn of events. “Young Conroy, follow that tunnel to the military quarters. General Isaac should be waiting there for you. Have him give word to the rest of the court, and hurry before he paces a hole in my floor.”
Griffin bowed. “My lord,” he said to Ori. He turned back to Savara hesitantly with words on his tongue he couldn’t share. “I’ll see you on the surface,” he said instead. Griffin strode off into the tunnel, not bothering to look back as the darkness engulfed him.
And then they were alone.
Ori stomped a heavy, bare foot and raised two stools from the rocks buried deep within the ground. He sat cross-legged on one, and she imitated him on the other.
“I am sorry for your many struggles, my child.” The crease in his brow deepened as he spoke. “In truth, I recognised you the moment I saw you, the night of the dinner, but I had to see if what was done to you was permanent. In your eyes, I saw old decisions that have haunted me for years come back to life. I was there the day it happened... The day you were chosen.”
“What do you mean chosen?”
Savara sat on the brink of tears as he recounted the events of her divination.
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THE WORLD STILLED AS the crowd waited for the young princess to slide the rings on her finger and receive her judgement. An eerie chill danced around them all, despite the flickering flames of the amphitheatre. He was not the only one who had sensed something wrong. The other leaders shifted on their pedestals, their troubled eyes darting back and forth to one another, wondering how they would react to whatever was about to happen. And when it finally did—when the rings broke away, revealing the mark of the Arima—they knew their fears were not without reason.
Poor child, Ori thought even then, scarcely past infancy and now marked by infamy. There was no way for her to know what her divination meant, not only for her kingdom, but for the world at large. Not many alive would even remember the truth. Their existence had been blurred into obscurity, but the leaders were well-versed in such legends and legacies. Poor child, looking back at her mother for clarification, wondering why the world had suddenly stopped. Her heartbroken mother, however, would not meet her eyes.
The crowds were swept away, hurried off to finish the rest of the festivities as the leaders gathered for the grimmest of meetings. What to do with the child was decided that same night. They had to act fast before the news reached the rest of the world. Things of such a nature tended to spread like wildfires when left unchecked, and this news was not something that could go unchecked.
What to tell the crowds was an issue to which each leader threw in their two cents. That very night they came up with the idea that the child should be killed off—not physically, but rather tucked away from society. Memories were wiped and chronologies altered.
Those brief minutes marked by her divination were erased from the minds of the masses through a gentle rain—courtesy of the leader of the Ur. To the general public, the child existed no longer. Killed off much earlier, tragically, but sympathetically. But such a divination meant greater actions would need to take place. Old prophecies were rearing their ugly heads, and they, the leaders, would’ve been foolish to ignore the warnings...
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A HEAVY FROWN SET IN on his face. “No one meant for you to get hurt,” he added finally, but it did nothing to console her.
The sky shifted quickly above them from the brilliant mountain blue to a swirling vortex of blackened clouds traced by streaks of lightning. The harsh mountain winds flooded through the city, sending leaves from the still-green trees rushing through the streets. The burning scent of ash followed, dragged down to the ground only by the sudden rain. Moments later, the sun was swallowed whole by the clouds as in the distance more shadows gathered.
