Tremmilly sat beneath an expansive shade tree, reading. Her large wolf-dog, Beowulf, lay beside her, sprawled out comfortably in a small patch of light. The girl's black hair shimmered in the bright light of mid-day, green eyes intently focused on the book in her lap. Beowulf's gray and black fur swayed in the breeze as he napped. This was just the kind of peaceful scene Tremmilly enjoyed so deeply.
Lost in thought, Tremmilly absentmindedly scratched behind Beowulf’s ears. The action made his leg twitch, something she still laughed at, even after all the years they’d spent together. She quit scratching to flip a page, and the wolf-dog rolled over to warm his other side. Minutes passed, the two enjoying the tranquility of the deep wood.
In a distant part of her mind, Tremmilly heard the snap-crackling of someone moving through the underbrush, but her attention remained focused on the large book.
“Tremmilly?” a voice questioned, its tone melodic. She shut the book, careful to mark her page before doing so. After gently setting the tome down, she gave Beowulf a hearty belly scratch. This time she focused her full attention on him, gazing into his large blue eyes.
“Well, Beowulf, it looks like we aren't safe, even way out here.” Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at the wolf-dog.
Turning to face the footfalls, she called out, “Over here!”
After a few moments and more crackling, an elderly looking man entered the small clearing. Tremmilly began to rise, but he motioned her to stay seated. The old man smiled at the wolf-dog, sitting down on the soft tree needles across from Tremmilly.
The trio lounged in contented silence for several minutes. Tremmilly could feel her body take in energy from the surrounding landscape. Beowulf returned to dozing in the warm sunlight.
Finally, the old man stood and spoke. “Walk with me, if you will.” His tone was friendly, his manner loving. Both Tremmilly and Beowulf rose and started following him.
“Psidonnis,” she said, as they had topped the crest of a small rise, “what brings you out so far to find me?” Psidonnis continued walking, his pace brisk. He was silent for a long time. This reticence is unlike him.
It made Tremmilly uneasy.
“There are heavy matters afoot,” Psidonnis finally replied. His wrinkled face showed care and concern, but also resolve. “I dread having to turn our friendly relationship to one of a religious nature. There are other members of my Sect that Terra could have chosen, but it was I who received the prophecy. And I think it is because of our friendship, rather than in spite of it. I believe Terra wants me to convey it to you.”
A feeling of anxiety crept over Tremmilly. She stopped walking. “You raised me with the knowledge of Terra, and you know I respect your beliefs. You also know I have no wish to partake in the Dygars Sect. If there is a prophecy, how could it apply to me, a non-believer?”
The old man shrugged his shoulders, but Tremmilly thought he knew more than he let on. “I do not know how this came to be, only that it is. As I taught you, our prophecies are always for, and about, a member of the sect. This occasion has been
an anomaly.”
“Psidonnis, you know I love you, but I don't want anything to do with this. My parents came here for the Sect, but I have no faith in it. I have my own beliefs.” She hoped she wasn't being too strong.
Looking him in the eye, she saw Psidonnis gazing back, absolutely expressionless. At first, she thought he was angry. No, that isn't right.
She looked deeper and realized he was vacant, some place else entirely. The animation drained from him, seeping away as she watched. Each moment, it progressed further, eyes becoming empty, vapid, soulless. A startled gasp escaped her as his lifeless looking lips opened and the void man began to speak. Psidonnis’ voice had lost its vibrant quality, had been imbued with a harsh, primitive tone that made Tremmilly shiver.
“When the Breakers rise, there shall be six on whose choices the worlds do lie. The choice of virtue or corruption will bring an ancient existence to many, death to more still. Persevere and strive, the Acclivity will bless those who survive.
“Six shall have great influence, many choices when the Breakers rise. Woe to six, that Breakers have experience when they have none. Six shall have need of all their will.
“The first be of a light most bright, spirit most pure. Her life touched by death before cognition, her desire only for peace. She shall start the fire that kindles the worlds to the Acclivity. Woe to the Breakers.
“The next shall have hands that shed blood, his blood in motion with machines. He does not know his heart, yet through course of life he shall learn what to see. He shall be the strong hands that guide the Acclivity, albeit he is not gentle. Woe to the Breakers.
“She of battle will fight beside the hands, her heart ferocious, yet kind. Her path has been strange, her child not of her blood. She shall be a strong pillar, the Acclivity magnified
through her strength. Woe to the Breakers.
“Next is a man of character, the dead that is found, wearing that which is ancient, the icon of legends long past. His heart is good and powerful, a mighty man to lead the Acclivity. Woe to the Breakers.
“He that is green has strength of mind, his people are his weapon. He is dissimilar, but his heart is good; send him not away. He shall unite a people unspoiled, he shall be the salvation of those of his kind. He shall bring his kind to the Acclivity, and the worlds will tremble at their might. Woe to the Breakers.
“Last is he smallest of all, but a boy in the eyes of the world. He is descended from power, full of power, wielding power. His mind is a weapon, though his hands be frail. His heart is strong, though his body may fail. He has the power of life, the gift of death. The Acclivity rests on his shoulders. Woe to the Breakers.
“All six shall have friends and foes alike, some from within and some from out. Many more shall sway the Acclivity, many more essential. Some will live and many more will die. Come forth you adventurers, you seekers of battle. The Acclivity calls, though the Breakers may yet decide the fate of the worlds.
“But to you who would stay in comfort and safety, not yielding to the call: Blightheart shall establish itself on you and the worlds will be sundered by the Breakers.”
After Psidonnis finished speaking, Tremmilly stood in stunned silence, afraid, not knowing what to think. The life slowly returned to his face. Several minutes passed, then he was fully restored to his body.
“Did it happen?” he asked, his voice sounding dry and papery thin, bereft of its normal joyfulness. She didn't reply. “Ahhh, yes. I see by your face it did.” He looked down at his feet, sighing heavily. Whether this was out of shame or
another, more obscure emotion, Tremmilly couldn't tell. She was speechless and felt violated.
Tremmilly was about to say something, although she was still unsure what it would be, when Psidonnis raised his head and spoke. “I had hoped it would not happen this way, that I could be myself when I told you the prophecy. It seems Terra had a different plan and wanted to communicate in a more—direct manner.”
“What does it mean?” Tremmilly blurted, unable to contain her emotion any longer.
“I don't know child. I honestly don't, at least not exactly. We Dygars are an old order. We keep meticulous records, but there have been many times when we lost information. When you are fleeing for your life, dusty old tomes and records are often the last thing on your mind.” With this statement, some of his warm personality and humor returned, his voice regaining a measure of its former vitality. This comforted Tremmilly, and she felt her own emotions settle, even if it was only fractionally.
“Do you know why I was meant to hear the prophecy?” Tremmilly asked. “I need some perspective. It doesn't make sense.”
“You don't see it?” He had the look on his face she had seen when he tutored her. It was the one that said, “You know the answer Tremmilly. Look harder!” She thought for several moments. Psidonnis remained quiet and allowed her to think, just like he always had.
“I honestly don't,” she replied, failing to connect anything in her life to the vague and poetic prophecy. “None of it sounds familiar or connected to anyone I know.”
“Well then,” he said with a sigh, “I suppose it's time to bring you in front of the elders and let them explain some things to you. Perhaps you'll see the connection then.” As he said this, he turned away from her and began walking towards the Dygar
enclave. Tremmilly looked down at Beowulf, finding comfort in his familiar eyes. She felt determination rise within her and moved to follow her oldest human friend towards the unknown.
“Before we go to the council, Tremmilly, there are a few things I should tell you. They will make more sense coming from me than from the elders.” Tremmilly tensed up, sensing she wasn't going to like what he was about to say. “You are the one the prophecy refers to as being 'of a light most bright, spirit most pure.' It is time for you to leave Eishon-2. You need to search for the other five referred to in the prophecy.”