Chapter Fourteen
"… to them,
Elanora was a heathen who went against
Keori’s teachings and made up her own so to suit herself better.
Keori was their saint,
who protected them against Elanora’s evils
while living atop Mt. Furyew …"
—The Pasegean Scrolls
Syrah sat at the table, head in her hands, sobbing. Samandia raged around the kitchen, flinging plates at the floor, her face gleaming with tears. "I killed them!" she cried, lifting her head to the ceiling, screaming. "And Sidhe killed me!" Her knees weakened, and she sank to the floor, her eyes full of terror. She blanched; recognition flashed through her mind.
"Kessah?"
Her voice trembled, as did her lower lip. Syrah looked up, hoping for someone to spirit her away from the mad woman. She saw no one.
"Kessah …" Samandia’s voice trailed off, her mouth open as she gazed towards the apparition. "I didn’t want to, Kessah. Believe me, please." She pleaded with the ghost of her past—the past which haunted her every moment of every day. "Forgive me."
The door swung open, slamming into the woman crouched on the floor. Wind whipped through the room, carrying the spirit out the door. When Samandia looked up again, Ebonite was there, as was the princess, the fighter-girl and … Jarrad! She looked meekly at them, then back at the wall where her sister hovered,
She was gone.
Samandia blinked. Still nothing. With a moan, she fainted, knowing that her last chance of release from the insanity which overwhelmed her soul had flown with her sister.
Vela and Jareth surveyed the scene in horror. Alena ran to Syrah, whose eyes conveyed such terror that the princess had trouble looking at them. Ebonite rushed to Samandia’s aid, trying to awaken the mage.
Several moments later, a cry emanated from Ebonite’s lips. They all turned to look at her, startled.
Ebonite’s eyes were glassy. "She’s dead," her voice murmured slowly, as if her mind couldn’t take it in. Syrah began to gasp for breath, her original shock now replaced by Samandia’s death.
"Dead?" Jareth’s voice trembled as he stared down at the crumpled heap of clothes on the floor. Magically, they began to cave in, as if a body no longer supported them. Soon the dress and cloak too disintegrated, leaving only a slip of parchment on the floor. Alena shuddered as Ebonite bent forward to pick it up.
"Journal six, page 375."
Knitting her brows, the young mage looked at the words in bewilderment. Then, realisation caused her to jump to her feet. "Journal six, page 375! She finally told me!" She turned to rush up the staircase, forgetting the others for a moment.
Finally remembering them in her haste, she grasped Jareth’s arm. "Now we’ll find what the future holds for you, Jarrad!"
Jareth grimaced. I hate that name! It’s like a label … when she calls me that, I think she expects me to act like some kind of grand hero. However, he pushed his thoughts aside and beckoned to the others to follow them upstairs.
Ebonite half-ran to Samandia’s bedroom, dragging Jareth behind her as the others struggled to keep pace with her. She stopped at the door, breathless, then turned the doorknob.
It was locked.
Crestfallen, Ebonite could have nearly fallen to her knees and wept. Locked?! As a last resort, she peeked the through the keyhole. Was the key on the inside?! Only Samandia Darvosten would be that cautious … Ebonite had certainly learnt that during her time with the woman, if not anything else. She would have to think laterally if she wanted to retrieve the key.
Inspiration struck. Tucking the parchment in the crack under the door, Ebonite banged on the lock. The key fell from the hole and fell with a clunk to the floor. Good, she thought. Carefully she pulled the parchment back through, hoping against hope that her idea had worked. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
The paper was heavy. The key was still there. She let out her breath, giving a sigh of relief. Ebonite stood again, shushing Jareth and his amazed babbling. Inserting the key into the right side of the door, she turned it and the doorknob at the same time.
For a bedroom, Samandia’s looked immaculate. Not a speck of dirt resided on the wooden floor or a smidgen of dust on the furniture. However, when Alena tripped over the rug and moved it slightly, she smiled and hid what was under there. A new feeling of understanding crept into her heart for the woman—she was human, just like most of those inhabiting Arsinuae.
Ebonite practically tiptoed over to the bookcase, then ran her finger lightly over the leather bindings, searching for the golden six which would lead her to the words she had long sought. "Aha!" she cried as she wrenched forth the book from the shelf.
Alena peeked over Ebonite’s shoulder, looking at the pages. Some were incoherent, passages like:
"Beautiful butterfly calls to me,
Forces me into a contract.
Takes my body and uses my mind.
When will they bestow freedom upon me?"
Others, so smudged by tears that they were extremely difficult to read, but said so much just with the tears alone.
"I spoke once of beauty, now I am hideous.
She has killed my soul but not my body.
Sidhe leaves me to suffer; to wallow in the deaths of so many."
Alena felt intense sympathy for Samandia … but she felt that to pity her would do her wrong. Finally, they arrived at page 375.
Llyne is gone. Garvin will give her happiness; more happiness than Sidhe could have bestowed on anyone other than her dear son. She follows him for weeks at a time, her spirit watches his every move. "Isiona!" She tries to contact him, but his magic is weak, and can only hear a whisper.
Today, Llyne came to me. I would have spoken longer, but Sidhe found us together, and delivered her decree. Even though I hate to write the words, these must be scribed even though it is impossible for me to forget them. Maybe one day they will be of use to someone …
Her face curled in a sneer as she pointed towards Llyne.
"I curse you, Llyne Penwhite.
I curse your family.
You shall die, murdered by a trusted friend.
Garvin shall die, killed by that same cousin.
Your son will vanish,
Your daughter turn to evil.
Your son will hear his true name,
but not remember it;
He shall never know you.
When he ‘scapes his captors,
to Chail he will flee.
He must kill
A woman.
He must kill
A girl.
He must kill
His sister.
This is his prophecy … The Syrianan Prophecy."
Llyne nearly fainted at the words, and fled as the word ‘prophecy’ was uttered.
Now we are four … doom dwells upon me. Fear overcomes me … so much I fear. Not only my mistress, but some foreboding death which hangs in the air, as yet undetermined … only time will tell the outcome of these happenings.
If only … six years was not enough.
Alena stared at Ebonite expectantly. "Isiona …?" Tears welled up in her eyes as the realisation struck her. She had never known her grandmother … her father would not speak of her. Now she knew the truth. She was related to Sidhe, a name which would be etched in the history of Arsinuae for centuries.
Jareth placed his arm around, comforting her, but she shook him away and ran from the room. Ebonite replaced the book, then turned back to Jareth. "Now you have heard the prophecy. Now you know your fate. You must defeat the evil."
He shook his head. "But what is the evil? Who is my sister?" As the half-faery looked away, he entreated her. "Can’t you tell me anything?"
Ebonite began to walk from the room, then looked back at him. "No. You must discover the truth for yourself. Now, I must go. Stay as long as you like …" She spoke the last words with the inference that they would not see her again.
Syrah snapped from her daze, and cried out one last plea. "Lokath?"
The woman stopped, murmuring. "Search for him, or he will die. Yet, search for him and you will die. One must die or the quest will never be fulfilled." As she walked into the hallway, she spoke her last. "He was betrayed, Syrah. You must complete your quest before the cat gets what she wants." Nodding at Jareth, Ebonite looked her last upon the only ones who could bring peace and order to Arsinuae.
Syrah began to sob again, and Jareth finally realised who had betrayed them all. "The cat," he muttered, and walked from the room, leaving Syrah with a resolution to find Lokath, no matter what the cost and Vela completely confused.
Copyright 2000 M. Lees
