Star-metal fell from the winter sky the night a boy was born in the Stronghold of the Queen of Snows.
Le'esha, Queen of Snows, stood on the highest cliff looking out over the ice-flecked Northern Sea. Behind her lay her domain, the Stronghold of the Rey'kil, a race born with magic in their blood. Before her, a vision of the future.
She smiled despite her mourning and weariness, when her assistant, Theana came to her in mixed joy and confusion to bring her the news of the boy's birth. As the white mist of a Seeing faded from her green eyes, Le'esha felt the pain and struggle of the centuries to come. Still, she smiled because a child had been born, new life amidst the pain and loss. Hope had been granted, a possible path and light leading to peace, despite the war between the barbarian Encindi of the southern continent, and the allied forces of the Rey'kil and Noveni.
"M'reena has birthed a boy." Theana had to force her voice above the howl of the wind that threatened another bitter storm.
"Yes, I know. A child of portent. Star-metal has fallen out of season. On Moerta, rather than over the sea."
"We will have more Noveni invading Lygroes, then," the girl sighed, and shrugged in resignation.
"The Encindi have lost more of their land in the latest winter quakes and floods, so they shall try even harder to take Lygroes from us when spring comes."
"Lady, how can you smile? The boy is obviously a portent of disaster. What good is it to destroy the Encindi barbarians if the Noveni and Rey'kil are wiped from the World as well?"
"No. Not nearly so grim." Le'esha smiled and pulled her hood back, baring her white hair and pale skin to the winter storm's blast.
Nearly a century of serving as visionary to her people and leading them in partnership with the Rey'kil's High Scholar on the Isle of Wynystrys had turned her hair as white as the light from the stars. The power that flowed through her had purified her, like fire purified silver.
"We are the Rey'kil, gifted with power in our blood, made by the Estall to protect the Noveni from the Encindi. This boy born tonight will find answers and teach strong minds and put weapons in strong hands. He will guard a king and guide a queen and win an untouchable heart. I have seen a bowl, which shall guard life and tie all the Threads of the World together, and a sword which shall guard the bowl. He will be tied to both, by blood and spirit and power. He will find the long-sought way to heal Moerta from the poison of star-metal."
"But M'reena weeps as she nurses her son," Theana said, pouting just a little.
"She does well to weep. Illis has died tonight. His soul reached to her as he crossed over to the Estall's Bliss. The shock of losing him brought on her labor weeks early."
"Illis?" Theana gasped and staggered a little, as Le'esha had staggered when she felt the death of one of her favorite warriors. "How? How could anyone kill him? He carries more magic than ten Renunciates serving Wynystrys or the Stronghold."
Le'esha closed her eyes against fresh tears. She knew that in some small way, she had contributed to Illis' death and M'reena's sorrow and loss.
"Word came from High Scholar Breylon and Graddon of Whispering Vale. Their visions matched mine. I spoke of it to all my warriors. Before we could devise a plan or even gauge the danger, Illis demanded the mission. He declared it was his right to travel to Flintan and seek the truth within the Nameless One's fortress." She sighed, took a deep breath and turned to face the stormy Northern Sea again. "We saw a boy, born this winter, who shall hold the power to save the World. And we saw a boy, born this winter, who shall walk in a trail of blood and reach to destroy the World. Graddon saw the trail of blood flow from Flintan and end here, at a cradle that dripped blood."
"M'reena's boy?" Theana shuddered.
"The Nameless One tries to breed himself an heir among the Encindi women. A son to use the power of the Threads and reclaim the lost shape-shifting magic of the Encindi. Blood magic has destroyed his ability to see and feel the Threads, so he seeks a son to hold that magic in thrall for him."
"What does that have to do with M'reena's boy?"
"M'reena's mother was raped by Encindi. M'reena is a half-blood, strong in magic. Turning to blood magic destroys more than the ability to see and feel the Threads that give us our power. Decades of using blood magic could have made him impotent. If he is unable to breed his own child, and if he knows of M'reena's ancestry, the Nameless One might try to take her son to raise as his own."
"Illis went to protect his wife and son." Theana nodded. "The Estall bless him." A sob escaped her and she wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders against a fresh gust of howling wind, as if the very elements roared in mourning for the bravest of the Queen of Snow's warriors. "The Estall comfort M'reena and their son."
"He went to see if the rumors are true, and the Nameless One has a son," Le'esha added. And I, Estall forgive me, told him of the vision that led him to his death.
* * * *
M'reena smiled proudly when the Queen of Snows came to see her and her son. Her voice was strong and sweet, despite her tears, and she sang lullabies to the newborn until she fell asleep. Then she died in her sleep. Le'esha found her the next morning with the baby cradled in her arms, tears on her cheeks and a faint smile on her lips.
Le'esha named the boy Mrillis, to honor both his parents who gave their lives in the service of the Estall and Lygroes and all the World.
She was not surprised when, the moment the storm calmed from its roaring and the sea no longer tossed with ice and foam, Graddon of Whispering Vale appeared at the Mist Gates of the Stronghold. The reclusive seer of the Rey'kil needed no testing to enter the Stronghold. If he wished, he could have passed through the barrier of the Lake of Ice and appeared in Le'esha's inner chambers without anyone realizing he was there. To honor the Queen of Snows, he waited until she came to meet him. Together, they walked in silence through the Mist Gates, up the long, winding stairs through the stone tunnels of the Stronghold, until they came to the nursery.
They stood for nearly an hour in silence, watching the newborn boy sleep.
"Which one is he?" she whispered, when the boy's wet-nurse had fallen asleep, and only the soft sighing of their breaths stirred in the tapestry-hung room.
"At this moment of time, he could be both, and he could be neither," the bald seer said in a voice as rocky as his features. Graddon gently brushed a dark curl off the baby's forehead with one calloused finger. "Many paths lie before him, and the trail of blood tangles with his trail many times. I cannot see if he walks it or he tries to cleanse it. If he tries to topple the one whose feet are covered in blood or tries to keep that other one from falling." He sighed, but hope gleamed in his pale green eyes as he turned to meet her gaze.
"What do you see, then, to bring you here?"
"I see the bowl and sword, as you did. He will be part of their making, and he will be part of their guarding and their losing and their hiding. They will be so much a part of his blood and soul that his death could destroy them--and their destruction could kill him. His life lies in our hands. We are the ones who will put him on the path he will walk. If he is the Child of Blood, then all history will condemn us as much as him for the choices we make."
"Some among the Noveni would tell us to kill the babe now, and avert that future," she whispered.
"And that is why we tell them so few of our visions, yes?" He chuckled, immediately hushing when the sound of his voice made baby and wet-nurse sigh in their sleep.
"If he is the Child of Life, then he must live to battle the Child of Blood and Death."
"Indeed." Graddon lightly ran his fingertips down the length of the boy's body and sparks of color danced between flesh and blankets. He caught a plump little fist between two fingers. "I had thought to teach him to work metal and wood and clay, when he is older, but these are not the hands to form the bowl, which must come first. Strange." He nodded, put the tiny fist down, and turned to her. "The hands I seek have yet to be formed. He holds the hands that weave the bowl from power and air and liquid metal. Guard him, sister of my soul. I will come to teach him and any others who wish to learn. You will not see me until that time comes."