Prophecy of Darkness (3 page)

“Alesandra? Um, there's food ready, if your, uh, guests are hungry.”

Xena looked up at the young blond woman standing nervously in the doorway, a tight smile on her face.

“Thank you, Shandra—Xena, Gabrielle, this is Shandra.”

Both Xena and Gabrielle smiled and nodded, but Shandra was already turning away. Even Gabrielle noticed this time.

“I'm sure they really like you,” she said to Alesandra. “They're probably just not used to having a prophet around, that's all. Some people just feel a little weird when they're around somebody who's different.”

Alesandra smiled sadly. “I guess that's it. Thank you for saying so, anyway. Are you hungry?”

Gabrielle nodded, her stomach growling at the prospect of a meal cooked by somebody else. Xena nodded also, but Alesandra's story had taken away most of her appetite.

As Xena followed Gabrielle and Alesandra out of the room, she thought carefully about the child's terrifying vision. A castle near Avernus, she'd said. Neither of the younger women could know—they hadn't traveled as much as she had—but Avernus was a lake in the southern regions that most people avoided—for it was supposed to be near the entrance to Hades, the place that souls went after death. She'd heard many a tale about Hades and didn't credit much of what she'd heard as truth—but there were too many stories to discount them entirely.

She herself had never been to the Avernus region, but even the smallest of children had heard of Hades, usually as a warning—mothers used the stories to frighten their young into behaving. Hades wasn't necessarily a bad place, but the one constant in all of the tales was that the souls there were all eager to get out, to return to life. And the name was often howled in the heat of battle; “I'll see you in Hades” was quite a popular cry among the men she had once led . . .

Alesandra led them into the bright sunshine and toward a waiting group of men, women and children. The woodfolk were obviously waiting for them before starting the meal, and they watched Xena and Gabrielle with wary and respectful gazes as the two women received wooden bowls of steaming stew. After Alesandra got her serving, the others finally crowded around for theirs.

Alesandra led Xena and Gabrielle to a shady spot beneath a tree, where they sat down to eat. Xena noticed that the other woodfolk steered clear of the spot, even Zetes and his family. It was apparent that Alesandra intimidated them—they chose openly to sit in the harsh midday sun rather than join the child prophet.

Their loss
, Xena thought, even smiling a bit as she began to eat. Afraid of a little girl they didn't understand. It was sad for Alesandra, but Xena had found throughout her travels that most simple folk rejected those who didn't fit in; they were too narrow-minded to accept that there were
good
differences as well as bad. And although Alesandra surely suffered now, it would be no great loss for her in the long run; prejudiced people weren't worth having as friends. The truth of it was a hard lesson to learn, but necessary.

Gabrielle eagerly dug into her stew and exclaimed at the flavors: rabbit, fresh nuts, and tomatoes—all seasoned with a skillful hand. She waved at Shandra, grinning.

“This is wonderful!”

Shandra cast the three of them another of her tight, nervous smiles and then went back to her own bowl.

Alesandra glanced up hesitantly at Xena as Gabrielle shrugged and continued eating. “Maybe when this is all over, you can drop me off in a city somewhere . . . ?”

Xena could hear the hope in the child's voice, and she smiled gently at the girl. Truly, Alesandra didn't belong here. Children needed more than just food and shelter, and an oracle could always find welcome in more populated areas, perhaps even some kind of training.

“I don't see why not. I thought that perhaps Gabrielle could stay here with you while I go to Avernus and see what the situation is. It shouldn't take more than a few weeks, and when I get back, we can talk about arrangements.”

Gabrielle felt hot, angry blood rush to her cheeks as Xena spoke: Stay
here
? When they were a team? Over her dead body!

“Hey, I thought we would be in this together! You need me, Xena, you know that I could be a big help! Who's going to cook if I don't go? Or fetch wood, or take care of chores? Besides, I come in pretty handy sometimes, you know that . . .”

Gabrielle trailed off, noticing Xena's firm gaze. Time for a different approach. She fixed Xena with her most serious, world-weary look and tried again.

“I agree, Alesandra should stay here, the traveling would be too hard on her, and we don't even know what we're up against yet. We can come back for her afterwards. But I've
got
to go with you—I've got a feeling about this one, Xena.”

Xena sighed. She knew her young friend would protest, and Gabrielle
had
shown that she was capable enough in a fight, in her own way—but this was just too dangerous. If this prophecy involved the powers of darkness, she'd have her hands full watching her own back, protecting Gabrielle on top of that would be too much.

“You'll both stay here. I've heard a few things about Avernus, and if the stories are true . . . It's settled, Gabrielle. I'm sorry.”

As the two women locked stares, Alesandra set her bowl down and cleared her throat loudly. “Sorry to mess up your plans—but
all
of us have to go. The vision was clear, I saw all three of us at the castle. You're the key, Xena, and I'm not sure what Gabrielle and I have to do with it, exactly—but we have to be there. If you go alone, you won't be able to stop the prophecy.”

Both Xena and Gabrielle turned to her, a slow grin stretching across Gabrielle's face, a frown across Xena's.

“See, didn't I tell you!” Gabrielle nodded excitedly. “I had a feeling about it!”

Xena gritted her teeth and spoke angrily. “And have you told us everything about your vision, Alesandra? Are you sure that's everything? You're not going to suddenly pipe up with some new, forgotten piece of information at the last minute?”

Alesandra chewed at her lower lip and dropped her gaze to the ground. “Well . . .”

Xena softened her tone. “Please, Alesandra. We have to know everything.”

Alesandra wouldn't look up. “I saw the three of us go to the castle—but one of us doesn't come back. And I don't know which one.”

They finished their lunches mostly in silence, Alesandra's final statement putting a damper on even Gabrielle's appetite. No matter how well prepared, food lost some of its appeal when there was a chance you wouldn't be around to enjoy it much longer.

Gabrielle glanced at Xena often, but the warrior was lost in thought, maybe thinking about what Alesandra had said—only two of them would come back.

Would it be Xena? Gabrielle watched her friend for a moment, wondering. No, she was too good a fighter, too skillful. There wasn't a man or woman alive who could take her in battle. Alesandra, then? She looked at the child, staring sadly into her half-empty bowl. It wouldn't be fair, she was so young . . .

Me,
thought Gabrielle.
Maybe it's me who won't come back.

The thought filled her with worry and a vague uneasiness. Maybe that dream she'd had about the creature, maybe that was a warning to her, telling her that
she
was the one who wouldn't return from this quest. It could have been the horrible creature of death, or something . . .

Gabrielle smiled slightly in spite of herself. The horrible creature of death! Xena would laugh herself silly if she heard
that.

Finally, Xena looked up at both of them and smiled, and when Gabrielle saw that smile, most of her concern fell away. It was the same smile that Xena often wore into battle, a half grin that spoke of great confidence and certain victories to come, and more importantly, it was a look that meant Xena wasn't worried, not a bit.

“In my experience, outcomes can always be changed for the better,” she said lightly, “especially when I'm around to change them.”

Alesandra and Gabrielle both smiled back at Xena, and Gabrielle felt the rest of her fear evaporate, whatever they were up against, Xena could beat it—and as long as there was breath in her warrior body, she wouldn't let any harm come to either Gabrielle or Alesandra.

Xena gazed around at the warm, lovely day, watching the woodfolk gulp down their food, noting that someone had set a bowl of water down for Argo. It really was a nice place to visit, although she was glad that she didn't live here—already, her spirit cried out to move on, to begin the quest that would lead them to Avernus.

“Gabrielle, why don't you and I see what we can bargain for in the way of supplies while Alesandra packs her things? I'd like to start before the sun sets. We've got a lot of traveling to do, and apparently, not a lot of time.”

Alesandra jumped to her feet and ran to get started while Gabrielle cleared their dishes, her eyes fairly glowing with expectation. Xena was glad to see their excitement, but she couldn't help wondering what lay ahead of them. Although she was confident in her abilities, she knew that changing the outcome of a prophecy was not some kind of dare. She'd put on her best face so that Gabrielle and Alesandra wouldn't worry overmuch, the last thing she needed was to have two frightened companions to watch over. It was going to be hard enough having them along at all, but according to Alesandra, there was no other way.

She lay a hand against the hilt of her sword and stroked it absently, what the child had said, about a man with no evil in his heart, the man who was to bring about this horrible fate—what kind of man was this? And how could she stop him? She wouldn't kill a good man, or anyone who truly meant no harm, those days were behind her . . . but if there were no other way, and all the world depended on it? What then?

Xena sighed, and stood up. Wondering about it was pointless until she knew more, they would have to find this castle and meet this mystery figure, try to find out what motivated him. Perhaps then, she would know what to do.

The castle was old, the stones battered and worn by many years of harsh weather and lifetimes of secrets untold. In fact, it looked like a ruin, so desolate and hidden among the trees that the rare passing traveler wouldn't even notice it—and if they did happen to glance at the seeming rubble, they'd dismiss it as one of the many crumbling castles that littered the countryside. Especially here, near Avernus—most sane humans wouldn't dream of living here, and the few who had tried had left quickly. There were only a handful of people who even knew this castle existed, and fewer still who knew how strong and protected it truly was . . .

Telius sighed heavily. He would have to go back soon; there were things to do. It was just so lovely outside, so nice to be out in the sun, away from the cold stones that made up his life. In spite of the twisted, stunted trees and the ugly dried grasses, the air was fresh and warm, the skies mild and crystal blue. When he was a child, his father had often taken him for long walks outside the castle, sometimes all the way to Avernus, where they would sit and talk about things. There were no fish in the lake, no life at all, but it was still quite pretty, and it was there that Martus Bain had entertained his son with stories about kings and princesses and cities made of gold . . .

Telius sighed again, his heart heavy. It had been almost half a year since his father had passed on into the afterlife, but remembering those times still filled him with a deep sadness, remembering his father, Martus Bain, the great scholar and wizard; the man who had raised him with patience and love, and whom he had loved dearly in return.

Telius had few memories of his mother; she had died when he was only three from a strange sickness, what his father had called a seizure of the heart. It had been quick and painless for her, at least, but Telius knew that his father missed her greatly. He himself didn't remember her well enough to miss her, but he was often sorry for his father's quiet sadness.

He stood and stretched, then scattered the remains of his lunch on the ground for the ravens to eat. There were no other animals here, not so close to Avernus. The castle itself was protected by a powerful spell, cast by its builder long ago, so that the people and animals there could live undisturbed—but the grounds for several miles around couldn't sustain intelligent life. Apparently, the nearer to Hades, the worse it was—horrible and strange nightmares troubled those who slept there. The ravens, of course, were the exception, and Telius didn't mind feeding them on occasion.

“Lunch for you,” he muttered, as he scattered the last of the bread crusts and fruit rinds among the gnarled tree trunks. He talked sometimes just to hear himself speak, fancying that he had a pleasant, deep voice. Truthfully, he was afraid he might forget
how
to speak if he didn't practice sometimes. He lived alone in the castle now except for Dunn, the family servant, and Dunn was a deaf-mute.

He started to walk the short distance back, feeling a weight gently settle on his shoulders the closer he got to home. He had lived in the castle all of his young life, nineteen years, and his father had lived there most of his—it was the only home Telius knew, and while he had always loved the place, it had just gotten too lonely since his father passed on. If there hadn't been so much to do, he might have considered moving away, going to a place with people and animals and
life,
maybe even a young, sweet woman who would want him as a husband . . .

Even as he considered these things, he knew it couldn't happen, not yet—maybe not ever. He had a mission, a great calling, and he couldn't abandon his home and his work.

Well, technically it was his father's work. His life's dream, really. Martus Bain had spent most of his long life studying, and had even learned a bit of sorcery along the way—and all to fight evil, to battle for the cause of good among men. The elder Bain had collected rooms full of books and spells, had devoted his time to learning all he could about the nature of evil so that he could war against it, perhaps even destroy it. It was why he had come to Avernus, to live at the very entrance to Hades. Where else? Hades was said to be the home of the Dark Gods as well as the souls of men—the eternal bringers of hatred and revenge.

But Martus Bain had been mortal, and all mortal men grow old and die. Telius's father had been a noble, good-hearted man and he had passed away in peace, confiding to his son that he would be happy to reunite with his long lost wife—but Telius missed him terribly. And so he would accomplish what his father had not, honoring his memory; he, Telius Bain, would destroy evil.

His father had
wanted
him to continue, he was sure of that. Fairly sure, anyway. On his deathbed, Martus had told him to try and be happy, to seek out whatever it was that inspired him—but he had also said to be very careful of all the books and scrolls in the castle, to make sure they were kept safe from the hands of the ignorant. Telius believed in his father's work, had even studied alongside him in later years, and he was sure that the warning was a kind of bestowal of fate, the handed-down gift of a lifework. What better way to keep all of that knowledge safe than to stay here and take over the studies himself? He didn't know half as much as Martus had, of course, but he wouldn't let his father's life dream go unfulfilled. He
couldn't.

“I
won't
,” he whispered harshly, as he reached the castle gate. It was a great burden, perhaps, to continue the lifework of a man as noble and learned as Martus Bain—but it was a burden he was proud to bear.

The gate was of heavy wood, lined with thickly wrought iron. Telius squatted down near the base and pressed one of the small stones set into the wall near the opening. The gate creaked open, and he tapped at three more of the tiny rocks, careful to touch them in the right order. The whole castle was rigged with keystones and other mechanisms, all designed to keep intruders out; without the proper combinations, it would be very hard indeed to get inside unscathed.

Telius slipped through the heavy gate and closed it behind him, his skin already prickling with the drop in temperature. No matter how warm it was outside, the castle remained cool and chill, even in the open courtyard. He walked across the small dirt yard, stopping briefly to check on the penned animals; it was Dunn's job, but Telius had always liked dealing with the livestock. Pigs, a few cattle, a coop of chickens—along with the vegetable garden around the other side of the woodshed, they ate quite well.

Telius considered looking for Dunn, but decided against it. The servant kept to himself, spending most of his spare time weaving on a small loom in one of the guest rooms or silently playing with Nox, his shaggy black dog. Besides, Telius wanted to study. He'd found a spell in one of his father's oldest books that looked promising.

He stepped into the main hall of the castle, stopping briefly to gaze up at the solemn portrait of his father as a younger man; the picture dominated the entranceway. Telius had inherited Martus's looks, which he was thankful for—a strong, square jaw, straight nose, dark hair and eyes—handsome, he supposed. Not that it mattered much, here . . . But it felt good to have taken after his father in looks as well as ambition. Telius liked feeling connected to Martus, and he was reminded of the strong physical bond each time he passed the portrait.

Telius turned down the long, winding corridor, walking through the soft and cold shadows that gathered low against each crumbling stone wall. Although the castle seemed small from the outside, it had been built to deceive; many of its passages tilted downward, ending in rooms that lay underground. This added to the outside appearance of a ruin; piles of broken stones lay atop a network of halls and rooms, but those passing wouldn't know it. The chilled air smelled faintly of earth, mixed with lingering scents of incense and wax, and the chambers Telius passed were empty and darkly silent.

Finally, after more twists and turns and two sets of stairs, he arrived at the room where his father had spent much of his time, a room that Telius now practically lived in. He stepped through the stone doorway and went to a dark wooden desk set to one side. The room was empty except for the desk, a chair and several stacks of dusty books, some piled almost chest high. Across from where he sat down, a bare stone wall spanned the length of the room; the wall was deeply etched with strange symbols and words written in long dead languages. Telius could read most of it, and knew the darker rocks to be runes of protection and other kinds of barrier stones; it was a wall that could be opened, although it never had been, not since before his father's time.

As a child, he had been afraid to visit this room alone; he had imagined that if he were very quiet, he could hear voices through the thick stones of that wall, shouts and cries, screams of misery and anguish. It was no secret that some souls could not rest in Hades, particularly those of evil men and women—they longed to be back among the living, as did the souls of saints. Redeeming themselves, he supposed. He'd pictured fires made out of shadows on the other side, and a heavy, foul stench like burning hair. Perhaps an aura of vain hope, woven through it all, an atmospheric overlay of dreams dead or dying, reaching out to take him in . . .

He knew better now; nothing came through the wall or went through it, not without the proper rituals. But he
did
know, as his father had, something that maybe no one else alive knew—that the Castle Bain, in spite of its decrepit appearance and modest means, was the only guard against what lay on the other side of the wall. There were other entrances to Hades, of course, but the wall of this very room was the only one that mortal man had any control over.

Which meant that Telius Bain was now its master—and someday, perhaps soon, he would find a way to make his father proud.

Telius flipped open a book and started to read.