Prophecy of Darkness (7 page)

Gabrielle struggled against the powerful arms that held her, then bit down on a hand that brushed across her face. A man shouted, and she was released. Xena's weapons had fallen to the ground, but there were too many people, too many legs and feet kicking up the dust—

—and then Xena was there, spinning and jumping, dropping the villagers one at a time. A woman holding a big stick was disarmed by a well-placed slap; the man who had grabbed Alesandra was felled by a blow to the knee.

“Gabrielle! Help Alesandra!”

Gabrielle ran to the scared child, lashing out at a snarling young farmer who tried to stop her. It was a lucky punch, hitting him hard on the chin; he stumbled back, and Gabrielle grabbed Alesandra and pulled her away from the crowd.

Argo pranced anxiously in the midst of the shouting townsfolk, and Xena trilled again, a high call that would tell the horse to hold still. Argo obeyed instantly.

There were still fifteen or twenty of them standing, many carrying makeshift weapons—sticks, rocks, the handles of hoes and other farming tools. One elderly man held a wicked-looking scythe, the curving blade flashing maliciously in the late sun.

Xena leapt into the air, slapping her hands down across Argo's back, vaulting up and over him. She kept her legs splayed, striking two of the villagers in the chest, one with each foot. Ribs snapped. They fell, and stayed down. She landed, spun—

—and saw that four of the armed townspeople were headed to where Gabrielle and Alesandra stood, a hundred paces away. She only had a few seconds before they reached them.

Xena caught a glimpse of her chakra, the metal glinting against the dust by her feet. In one swift movement, she caught the shining hoop up and launched it, the kick sending it high into the air.

The man with the scythe rushed forward at the same moment, and Xena ducked the blade, turning and driving her elbow into his stomach. The man let out an
oof
as the wind was knocked out of him and he dropped the weapon—

—as Xena caught the chakra, the metal landing easily in her hand. She vaulted back over Argo, this time landing squarely in the saddle. With the slightest of pressure from her boots, the horse lunged forward, headed for where Gabrielle was, the young woman sheltering Alesandra with her body. The armed foursome were raising their weapons to strike.

Xena trilled out again, used her trained instincts to mark the villagers in a split second—and the chakra flew, glittering, to knock four weapons out of four hands, bouncing between them almost faster than the eye could see. The attackers yelped and backed away in confusion; Gabrielle snatched up one of the fallen clubs, readying herself in case more came.

Xena deftly spun Argo around to face the mob—and saw that it wasn't much of a mob anymore. Those who hadn't been knocked down or injured didn't seem to know what to do now, confronted with an opponent they couldn't stop, let alone understand. Many had dropped their weapons; others were crouching down near their fallen neighbors, their expressions openly confused. A few had gathered around Saji, perhaps looking for direction.

Xena got down off of Argo, watching the villagers warily. Gabrielle and Alesandra joined her, Gabrielle handing her the chakra before silently taking the horse's reins.

Xena walked slowly toward the leader of Osetus, noting that none of the townspeople had been seriously injured, or at least not as far as she could tell; they had gotten off easy. She was no longer the cruel and careless woman who would have laughed to see them in pain; she had chosen a higher path—a way that didn't call for the murder of innocents, a way that seemed to contrast sharply with their own.

Xena met Saji's angry gaze full on. “Is this what your god demands?” she asked softly, then raised her voice so that the rest could hear: “Do you worship a god that would demand the life of a child?”

She looked around at the villagers and found that none would meet her gaze. Except for Saji, whom she faced again.

“We— The God Ling denies prophecy,” he stammered, his eyes less angry and more uncertain. “He is the Creator of all, and will not stand for . . . He won't stand for . . .”

Saji trailed off, looking around at his people, his children. They watched and waited.

Xena arched her brow. “Ling created everything? He is the maker of all?”

Saji nodded, his face seeming older than it had before, more haggard.

She turned and addressed all of them, her deep voice carrying easily across the crowd. “Why would Ling create a child who is evil? Alesandra did not choose her vision; does that mean that Ling did
not
create her?”

She looked at Saji. “Or does it mean that perhaps it was Ling who gave her the gift of sight in the first place? That it is her natural self, to foresee?”

Saji didn't answer, but Xena could see in his eyes that she had made a point, however small. He wasn't stupid or crazy, she could see that—simply ignorant, so certain in his religious zeal that he hadn't questioned anything for a long, long time.

“Barus and Tura are going to have a son,” continued Xena. “A son with his father's eyes. You should rejoice for them, rejoice in this blessing from your god. That Alesandra saw this thing—perhaps you should think about how she knew at all; if your god is the Creator, perhaps she heard it from Him.”

Saji still made no reply, and Xena could see that he wasn't going to change his ways overnight, or the ways of his people. But she could also see the thoughtful way with which he looked over at Alesandra, that question still in his eyes. Not a lot, but it was something.

Xena turned to Gabrielle and Alesandra. “Let's go,” she said, and when she lifted Alesandra onto Argo's back, none of the townsfolk moved to stop her. She scooped up her sword, sheathing it quickly, and then led the horse past the staring villagers.

As they passed Barus, who was sitting up groggily with Tura's help, she saw the woman place a hand across her lower belly and smile hesitantly at her husband.

Xena imagined that once the young woman had held her healthy infant boy, she might not be so quick to judge in the years to come.

Within minutes, they were back in the woods, the package of dried goods tied securely to Argo's saddle, the town of Osetus behind them as the sun began its slow descent into the western sky.

Gabrielle let out a pent-up breath. “I never thought I'd be so glad to leave a place! Those people were nuts!”

Xena shrugged, still walking alongside Gabrielle. “Not nuts. Faithful to the point of blindness—they believe what they believe because they believe it, no questions.” She smiled a little, thinking of the look she'd seen in Saji's eyes.

“But people can change,” she added, softly, almost to herself.

Alesandra was upset, her face a picture of misery. From her seat on Argo, she stared sadly at the ground, holding back tears. “I'm sorry, Xena, Gabrielle. If it hadn't been for what I did—”

“—they might never have learned to see,” finished Xena. “It's all right. I have a feeling that the people of Osetus might be changing their tune before long.”

She smiled up at a surprised Alesandra. “You may have just altered an entire religion. Because of what you did, those people are going to be forced to reevaluate the way that they think. And maybe the next prophet who wanders through will be welcomed instead of shunned.”

Alesandra's eyes shone brightly. “Really?”

“Really.” Xena grinned at Gabrielle. “Although I think maybe we'll go
around
Osetus on the way back, hmm? Give them some time to work out the details?”

Gabrielle nodded wholeheartedly, shuddering at the thought of revisiting the town. They walked along silently for a few minutes, each lost in her own thoughts, then turned a corner on the wooded path. The moon came into view, already up, still barely visible in the early evening light.

“Almost half-full,” said Gabrielle, trying to make conversation. “You know, the Goddess Aphrodite once said . . .”

Gabrielle trailed off when she saw the look on Alesandra's face. The girl had fixed her gaze on the ghostly moon, and her skin had gone milk-white.

“Alesandra?” Xena pulled on Argo's reins, bringing him to a stop. “What is it?”

Alesandra spoke softly, but her voice had the same tone as before, when she had seen the future child of Tura and Barus. “How soon?” she whispered, her voice both young and old at once. “How soon before Avernus?”

Xena realized that Alesandra was “seeing,” and she answered quickly, her tone gentle. “Perhaps two weeks.”

“Then we must hurry,” said the child, not blinking, staring at the half-moon, entranced. “When She is full, he will act. When She is full, our time is done, the Words spoken. He does not see, will not heed his father's words, he will undo the Beast—”

Alesandra faltered, then shook herself suddenly, looking to Xena, just a child once more. It was as if she had lost the train of the vision, slipping back into herself. Her eyes were wide and frightened by whatever she had seen.

“The moon! When it's full, whatever he's going to do, that's when he'll do it!”

Xena frowned. “You said that he would undo the beast, Alesandra—who will? Did you see him? Was the beast Cerebrus?”

Alesandra, tired from the full day of ups and downs and tired of being visited by prophecy, suddenly burst into tears.

“I don't know! All I know is that we have to get there before the moon is full or it's going to happen!”

Gabrielle rushed to comfort the girl, calming her with soothing words as Xena gazed up at the moon. Two weeks before it rose full and round, and it would take them that long to get to Avernus—not counting the time it would take even to
find
this man. And he might not want to be found . . .

Xena sighed, wishing that someone else had been named in this prophecy of doom. Two weeks?

It was going to be close.

The night of the full moon was only a week away, and Telius could hardly wait. The candles were already in place, the proper words memorized, and if there had been a spell that would make time speed up, Telius would have jumped at the chance—unfortunately, there was no such ritual. Or at least none that he knew of.

Telius had sent Dunn into town for supplies—not that they needed any, but Katil, the nearest town to Avernus, was easily a week away. Telius didn't want the spell to be interrupted, even by chance, so he'd told Dunn that he was in desperate need of ink, that his supply had run short. By the time Dunn got back, the rite would be a week past and the world would be at peace . . .

He felt a little guilty about lying to Dunn, who had always been a faithful servant and seemed like a nice enough man—but if the spell
didn't
work, Telius didn't want anyone to know of his failure.

“It
will
work,” he whispered, then looked up at his father's image. “I know it, I can feel it!”

He was standing in the entryway to the castle, having just returned from another solitary picnic outside. The portrait of Martus Bain seemed to look down approvingly from its place in the main hall, his father blessing him with his kind demeanor, his dark eyes smiling at Telius.

Telius sat down wearily on the stone floor, still gazing up at the image of his father. He hadn't slept well the night before, only a few hours; as the fateful day drew closer, he found it harder and harder to relax. It was calm and peaceful here, the entry stones warm from the afternoon sun shining in. His belly was full from the sandwiches he'd had for lunch.

If only pictures could talk,
he thought sleepily,
then I could tell him all about it; and he would laugh and talk with me, the way we used to .
. .

He closed his eyes, just a quick rest, and he could hear the crows outside, their harsh cries seeming far away.

“Telius,” said his father. “My son.”

Telius looked up and around, his eyes wide.
Could it be—
“Father?”

There was no one in the hall, no one who could have spoken. Telius turned his head, and a flicker of movement caught his eye, from the wall above him. The portrait of his father! It was alive! He watched, amazed, as the still picture of Martus Bain become fluid, a moving, talking man inside the great wooden frame.

“Yes, it's me,” said his father, and smiled down gently at him. He had been young when the portrait was painted, not much older than Telius was now, and it was strange to see this vital, dark-haired man speak in his father's voice.

“Am I dreaming?” Telius asked.

“Yes. But you must listen, and remember. You are a fine young man, my son, and I know that what you mean to do is for the good of all—but
wait for the girl.
Wait for all of them, and the girl will explain. The warrior is coming to help.”

What?
Telius peered closer at the image of his father, frowning. “I-I don't understand, Father! What are you talking about?”

Martus Bain smiled. “I love you, my son. Remember . . .”

“Father? Wait, don't go—” Telius reached upward as the image slowly lost dimension, fading back into paint on canvas, a portrait.

He opened his eyes again, suddenly awake—
truly
awake. He got to his feet, then stepped up to the painting, touching the dried pigments with a shaking hand. It had been a dream, all a dream . . . but it had seemed so
real
!

Telius shook his head, taking a step back from the portrait.
Wait for a girl? The warrior will help?
It didn't make any sense!

He peered closely at the picture. “Father?”

No answer.

Telius smiled nervously at himself, thinking of his earlier wish and feeling a bit foolish. Paintings
did
talk, perhaps, but only in dreams . . .

He had overworked himself, that was all, and he hadn't slept enough in the past weeks. And he had dozed in front of his father's portrait, and dreamed that it spoke a bunch of dream-words, the strange and often absurd conversations that sleep always seemed to bring. Wait for a girl and a warrior! Nonsense, really—but no surprise, considering how tired he'd been lately.

Already, the dream seemed hazy around the edges, the clearness of it becoming clouded by his rational mind—except for the part when his father had told him to remember how much he loved him. That he would keep, because he knew it to be true—and although he knew it was just a dream, it had been good to hear those words again.

“I won't forget,” he said, and smiled up at the still portrait. “I love you, too. And I'm going to make you proud, you'll see.”

Telius bowed to the portrait and then walked away, nodding to himself. A strange but pleasant dream, and that was all—but once the ritual was past, he'd have to keep his eyes open for a warrior and a girl, just in case.

After a full week of travel, they were all exhausted. Xena knew that she was pushing them, perhaps a bit hard, but the days were passing quickly and there wasn't much time.

Neither Gabrielle nor Alesandra had complained about the rapid pace, but she could see in the tightness of their faces; the toll it was taking—heading out before dawn, not stopping until well after dark. The journey had been uneventful except for when it rained one night; they had passed no more towns and hadn't seen anyone since Osetus, for which Xena was thankful. They simply didn't have the time to linger over a conversation or rest in the comfort of a warm village inn.

Gabrielle, Gods bless her, had worked hard to keep all of their spirits up—telling stories, joking with Alesandra, and carefully avoiding any talk of the dangers that might wait for them at Avernus. Xena was glad to have her along, and was reminded once again of how valuable Gabrielle was to her—the young woman couldn't fight worth a hoot and often got herself into trouble, but she had a consistent sweetness and lightness of spirit that made traveling with her a pleasure.

Alesandra had proved to be a fine traveler herself, keeping a brave and smiling face turned to the road ahead. She had surprised both Xena and Gabrielle with a delightful singing voice, a high, lilting birdlike sound that rang clear and strong when she sang harmony with Gabrielle. Gabrielle had already taught her every song she knew, and even Xena had joined in once or twice, her rich, deep vocals adding to the pleasant sound.

On the eighth day of their hurried travel; they had stopped for lunch, a quick meal of dried meat and the last of the nuts they had traded for from the woodfolk. Xena only hunted for dinner, because then they had time to cook over a fire, and they usually ate the leftovers for their morning meal. Which made lunch the least favorite break of the day—tough jerky and water, for the most part, supplemented by whatever Gabrielle scrounged up while walking or what bits of dried food they discovered in their packs.

Xena didn't mind eating in the saddle, but she knew that Gabrielle and Alesandra needed the short break; they could spare a few minutes, at least. They had made good time in the last week, and Xena expected to reach Avernus in another five days—arriving the day before the full moon, gods willing . . .

Gabrielle and Alesandra sat on a large stone by the rutted trail, chewing at dried jerky and surveying the woods around them. In the last few days, the forests they'd passed through had thinned, grown sparse and dry. Xena had even said that the hunting was poor, and although she always managed to find dinner, Gabrielle wondered how much longer that would last. It was as if they were traveling toward a place that wouldn't sustain life, and with each day, the surroundings gave them proof—the trees she looked at now weren't just dried out, they seemed sick and stunted. The air was dry, parched, and almost odorless, carrying no scent of earth or wood. There weren't any flowers or berries, and the plants all looked
weird,
like they were from some other world . . .

Alesandra leaned against her and then smiled. “You're right, everything
does
seem strange.”

Gabrielle stopped chewing and swallowed, hard. She stared at Alesandra. “You can read minds, too!”

Alesandra grinned. “Not in this case. You're looking at everything around us like it's from a different planet or something—although I
did
get a feeling from you this morning, right after breakfast, when you brushed out my hair. Sometimes I can tell things by touching.”

Gabrielle's eyes widened. “Really? You felt something about
me
?”

Alesandra nodded. “I remind you of your little sister, Lila. You worry about her sometimes—but I could tell she was okay, that she's been doing all right and she's not hurt or anything.”

Gabrielle smiled, and felt a weight lift off her chest that she hadn't even known was there. “Thank you so much! But how—where was—did you
see
her?”

Alesandra shook her head. “It's not like that. I think . . . I think that when people care about someone, they carry a little piece of that person in their heart. And sometimes they can feel that person, kind of get an idea of how they are—do you know what I mean?”

Gabrielle nodded slowly. “Yes, I think so.”

“So sometimes I can get that feeling
through
someone. If there had been something wrong with Lila, I would have known. Because
you
would have known, in your heart.”

Gabrielle nodded again. “That makes sense. Can you do it whenever you want?”

“No, I can't control it . . .” Alesandra frowned for a moment, then looked over at Xena, who was standing a few paces away, drinking water. “Something you said in Osetus, Xena—I've been thinking about it.”

Xena walked over to join them. “What was that?”

“After that fight—you told Saji that maybe their god, Ling, was the one who had told me about that lady's child. Do you believe in Ling?”

Xena shrugged. “Actually, I was just trying to make a point that they would understand.”

Alesandra looked at her, searching Xena's gaze with her own. “So which god is the most powerful? Which one do you believe in?”

Xena crouched down beside her, uncertain of how to answer. “I don't know, Alesandra. I have heard of many gods and goddesses, and everyone who worships believes that their god is the greatest. All I know is that I have seen some amazing things in my life, and that there are forces far more powerful than man at work in the world—putting a name to such forces wouldn't change them, so I don't choose to seek a name. It is what it is; I believe
that
.”

Alesandra frowned again. “That's not really an answer.”

Xena stood up, smiling. “For some things, there are no answers. Sometimes when people believe too much in something, they stop looking for any more truth—like the people of Osetus, for instance. Accepting that there may not be an answer to something frees your mind; it allows you to see farther than others, to continue seeking the truth that makes the most sense to
you
.”

Alesandra smiled back at her. “Okay. I can understand that.”

“Good. And that's enough philosophy for the day, I think. We have to get moving if we want to cover some ground before it gets too dark.”

Gabrielle and Alesandra both groaned good-naturedly and stood up, stretching and gathering their things. Xena passed around the leather water pouch and then secured it to Argo's saddle, feeling the ache of the long ride in her lower back. When this was over, she was going to find an inn somewhere with good ale and food and settle into a nice, hot bath—

A noise in the woods.

“Someone's coming,” Xena said calmly, not wanting to alarm Alesandra. She drew her sword but held it down low. “Get behind me.”

Gabrielle grabbed Alesandra's hand and pulled her behind Xena, who faced the direction of the crashing sound, to the right and in front of them—the noise of one man or woman approaching, not bothering to hide his or her arrival.

Xena didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't the wizened old man who stepped out from behind a close group of trees a second later, dressed in patched leathers and grinning broadly at them. And when he spoke, she was even more surprised.

“Goin' to the Great Dark, are ye?” he rasped, and then grinned wider, baring a mouth full of worn and yellowed teeth. “Avernus it is! Fine, fine! 'Tis a fine place to visit, mebbe, but don't go to live!”

He cackled loudly, and with that laugh, Xena realized two things: The old man wasn't a physical threat—he was too small and ancient to attack them—

—and he was also stark raving mad.