The Prophet of Pilanthi

“You’ve seen him?” Romni asked, never  moving his hand from its place upon his chin. The  man next to him nodded as he sipped his beer. He  was a rough-looking man, dirty and worn from a day’s work in the fields no doubt, with a short unkempt beard that did little to conceal his old, wrinkled face. It reminded Romni of his own home that he had left so long ago and a quick pang of  heartache came over him before he dismissed it.  The good he had done by leaving and training far  outweighed any sentimental regret he felt.

“Aye I’ve seen him,” the man said, pulling his  earlobe gently. “But not in a fortnight at least.”  

“That long?”  

“Aye, he and his folks frequented this place like myself, but I haven’t seen them recently. The boy became increasingly worried about us. Something about not being safe around him.”  

“And no one has gone to see them?”

The old drinker nodded as he finished his sip  with a sigh. “They’re quiet folk. They don’t much like a ruckus. None here in Pilanthi do.” He took another swig as Romni watched him intently. Romni could see the old man weighing how much to say in his  mind. The man sipped again and slowly put the mug back to the bar top. “The boy spouts off on things. Things he’s no business knowing. Things that don’t  much make sense.”

“Boys are funny that way. They’ll pick up all  kinds of things we would never expect them to hear  or repeat.”

The man stuck his finger in his ear gently.  “Not this. He’s predicting things. The death of a neighbor’s cow and the fire a few nights back at this very inn.” Romni looked over at the corner of the building that the gaffer pointed to where the  blackened char of tabletops and floor were easily seen.  

“The boy knew it,” the barmaid said, passing by as she wiped the spot next to the pair. “I heard  him say it would be so not two weeks ago when he was in with his father. And just a few days later, the  whole inn is nearly lost. Careless stable boy left his  lantern at the corner and nearly put the whole building in flames.”  

“And the boy said it would happen?”  

She pulled her earlobe gently. “Down to the  very spot of the building. Though he said the inn would be ash, and that didn’t happen. But me husband says the boy’s either a prophet of Phont or  a devil of Klane.”  

“The Prophet of Pilanthi. That’s what I’ve been calling him. I think it’s got a nice ring to it, don’t  you? Though, I don’t think the boy liked it much when  I mentioned it to him.” The old chap said with a wink. Romni smiled towards him and then the barmaid, who rolled her eyes in humored annoyance.

“And this type of talk is new for the boy?”  Romni continued.  

“Aye, he’s always been a bright lad, but these words don’t seem to be his own. Too refined. Too  predictive. It’s put people off, it has. Been going on long enough where the family don’t much entertain anyone anymore. Plus, the boy’s been sick as of late. Shivers and headaches and the like. His talking about the fire was the last time we’ve seen them. I reckon they’re simply a bit worried about it all.”  

“Curious,” Romni said as he took a hearty gulp from his own beer, wiping the foam from his clean-shaven face. The boy was shaping up to be a solid candidate for a Chosen. But prophetic gifts  were rare, even among their honored group. This was fast becoming an intriguing prospect.  

“It’s more than curious, it’s obvious,” the man said. “He’s got the gift, plain and simple. Just a matter of time until the Chosen or a beast come for  him, says I.”

Romni chuckled at the man’s astute recognition as he drank again, “As certain as the  sun, is it?”  

The old man joined in the laughter. “It’s as certain as whatever the boy wants it to be. He can  make the weather too. Phont himself would be  impressed.”

“Make the weather?”  

“Aye, our crops have grown to the greatest  heights I’ve ever seen. He can give us rain or sun or  shade, all at his will.”  

“Very curious.” Multiple gifts, including prophecy. Multiple witnesses. Illness marking the coming of his abilities. The boy was Chosen. And if he was already controlling his newfound skills, the child’s talent was simply incredible. Which meant they would certainly not be the only one’s seeking  him out. The sooner they found him, the better.  Romni placed a couple of copper trills on the bar top  for both drinks, finished his mug, and thanked the  man and the barkeep before walking out.  

“What’s the word, Romni?” A reddish skinned elderly man asked from his post beside the  stables. He was bald, clean shaven, and thin, and  his bright, thoughtful eyes showed he was far more  youthful in mind than his outward appearance  suggested.  

“It sounds legitimate. Very intriguing. The family has holed themselves away with all the goings on. But he is without a doubt Chosen if the people can be trusted.”  

“There’s no reason to not trust them, is there Romni?”  

He shook his head in mild embarrassment of  his pessimistic view and Dalma smiled. “Very good,  we should make haste then. Which way?”  

“A little further along the creek here. There is something else, Grandmaster,” Romni said as they both hopped upon their horses. Romni scratched the  top of his head nervously, tussling the short brown  hair madly.  

“Go on.”  

“Dalma, the boy is prophesying. His  connection to his abilities seems uncannily strong. In  the past, when children have this natural of a bond. ”

“We will be on our guard for others, Romni.  Rest assured. Let us arrive in good spirits though.”  

“Very good, sir. One other thing: Is it customary here to fiddle with one’s own ear? The old man pulled his ear quite a lot, and so did the barmaid. I fear there may be some darkness about.”  

Dalma laughed as Romni directed his horse on the path that ran along the creek bed. “I imagine there was quite a bit of agreement between you? Yes, I thought so. Pulling is agreeing, ear plugging  is disagreeing. It’s a local custom.”  

Romni shook his head and smiled, “I fear I may always see things from the worst possible viewpoint.” Dalma pulled his ear mockingly as the pair headed up the trail.  

The inn was situated at the base of a small valley where an equally small creek ran through the wood. Beyond it was farmland dotted with cottages and homesteads. The region technically fell under  the rule of Suthore, on the southeast shore of the mainland, just outside the swamps of Swilmagapan. If the riches of Suthore ever reached the small village of Pilanthi, it did not show, and the pair trotted in single file to manage the narrow and seldom trodden trail.

“Will another prophet be bothersome to you,  Dalma?”

“Hmm? Oh no, I think it would be wonderful to share my knowledge with a pupil. As long as his skills don’t overshadow mine,” the red-skinned traveler said with a wink. “Sometimes these visions  fade with time and training, sometimes they blossom  into more. Only time can tell.”  

“Do you think this boy fits any of your  premonitions?”  

“I have foreseen many things, but like much  in life, nothing is certain. My visions are glimpses into  possible futures, fragments of distant and forthcoming memories. What I can say is that I have  had very strong visions of this place. I saw that inn  from exactly the perspective we rode in upon it. And I have seen a boy with a strong connection deep in  the woods nearby. Once again time is the great  decider, but it certainly seems we are fulfilling this particular vision.”

“Have you ever seen anything terrible that is  to come?”

Dalma turned in his saddle to look at Romni  with a soft smile. “We cannot fear the future, Romni,  or we will waste the present. And at present, I  believe we have arrived.” Up the trail there was a  small hut carved into a dirt mound within a tight  clearing of ashen pines. No smoke rose from the crude chimney, and the immediate area was deathly quiet. What was once a garden had begun to be  overrun with weeds, and a handful of chickens  picked through it eagerly. No one was outside in the  coming dusk.

“Easy, Romni,” Dalma cautioned as his  counterpart visibly tightened while taking in the  scene.  

“We may be too late, Dalma.”  

“Let us first dismount our horses before we start making any sort of assumptions.” They approached the home silently, leaving their horses  near the trodden garden fence. Dalma tapped his  weathered knuckles on the wood door. It swiftly  opened before them, thrown back by an unseen force. The fading light from the setting sun was  minimal through the thick trees, and they could  hardly make out the immediate entryway. No  greeting was made. Romni reached for his sword,  but Dalma gently rested a hand upon him before he  could draw. “Light us a torch, Romni,” Dalma said calmly, never taking his eyes from the open  doorway. Romni ran to his horse and returned with a light in hand, the premade tool burning brightly.  

There was a makeshift room to the left that  was hidden by a cloth hung from the poorly thatched  roof, but it was otherwise an open space. What they could see was a mess, with crude furniture turned over and what looked to be rotting fruits and  vegetables strewn throughout. At the back of the  room sat a boy, alone. He was thin with a wiry build.  With pale blue eyes he curiously watched the two  men, his neck tilting to one side as Dalma and Romni held at the entrance.  

“Hello, dear boy,” Dalma said. “Are your  parents home?”  

“Parents home,” the boy replied  mechanically.

“Ah, they must be out tending the livestock I  suppose.”

“I suppose.”  

“Do you have many chickens?”  

“Many chickens.”  

“Indeed.”  

“Indeed.”  Romni held the torch steady as Dalma continued to watch the boy. Both men rested a hand  loosely on their swords’ hilts. “And what of this home, hmm? It looks like  you’ve been neglecting your chores, young man.”  

“Young man.”  

Dalma looked to Romni and then clasped his  hands calmly, thumb tips touching and pointing up,  pinkies touching and pointing down, and closed his  eyes. His eyes shifted back and forth beneath his eyelids as if he were dreaming and Romni waited  patiently, vigilantly watching the strange boy while Dalma focused. Dalma opened his eyes, offered  Romni a gentle smile, and then charged forward and  slashed across the boy’s chest. Instead of blood, a putrid green ooze spilled out and the boy screeched, reeling backward. From the cut came a series of long legs, peeling inside out and revealing a thin,  shadowy monster. Its four legs were as tall as the  men, sharp and hinged like a spider, its torso that of  a human with long, dangling, sinewy arms that  nearly reached the floor, and its head, a faceless formless façade, like the earliest forms of an artist’s  clay sculpture, where none of the details are yet  defined.  

“Spoof!” Romni cried with his sword at the  ready and torch above his head.  

“Set the roof on fire when I say!” Dalma said,  parrying a set of razor-sharp feet that thrust toward  him like daggers. “Keep it from leaving!”  

Romni obeyed, knowing full well that Dalma  had glimpsed the future in the short seconds his  eyes were closed. The pair fought and slashed, dodging and hacking with an occasional shove from Dalma to move Romni out of harm’s way. The spoof was slowing, the green ooze still spilling from its torso, and in desperation it took the form of Dalma,  hoping to confuse the pair. It darted behind the  curtain into the makeshift room.  

“Set the roof!” Dalma said, moving toward the  doorway. Romni held his torch high near the  makeshift room, lighting a small section of the hut on  fire, and took position alongside Dalma at the  doorway.  

“One way out?”  

“Through us,” Dalma confirmed. They waited as the fire began to spread across the dry roof thatch. Dalma watched as tufts of flaming debris fell to the floor.

“Prepare,” he whispered. On cue, a great troll  charged from the curtain, a large, green, oozing  gash across its abdomen. Both men sliced at it but  did little damage as they were slammed out of the doorway and onto the dirt trail. Their horses bucked  at the sight of the monster, thrashing to free their  reins from the fence. It snapped and the animals  galloped away, the wood post in tow between them as a light rain began to fall from the sky. Dalma and Romni regained their feet as the spoof, still in troll form, prepared for another charge. The rain fell  heavily and doused Romni’s torch. He discarded it and held his sword at the ready with Dalma beside  him. The troll-formed spoof lined up another charge  and sprinted toward the pair as it continued to spill the putrid blood.  

A sickening smack sounded, the crack of electric heat, and the beast fell in an instant. Dalma looked to the woods knowingly. A boy stood on the  edge of the trees, the same boy the spoof had pretended to be. Lanky and gristly, with shaggy  blond hair and wide, awe-struck, piercing blue eyes. The boy watched the smoking husk of the spoof in  bewilderment before shifting his gaze to the pair  intently.

“Are you them?” He finally asked.  

“No, we are not spoofs, child,” Dalma said  calmly. “I imagine you are not either?”

“No,” he said nervously as he moved his eyes over the smoldering hut. The rain had slowed  to a light drizzle, and Dalma sheathed his sword.  

“My boy, did you summon that storm?”  

“I think so,” he said with the smallest of grins.  “My, how about that, eh Romni?”

“Quite something,” the smooth-faced  Chosen replied. “What’s your name, son?”  

“Walding. Walding Zarlorn.”  

“And are your parents home, Walding?”  Dalma asked.  

“No,” he said quietly, barely a whisper.  “Those things . . .”  

“I’m sorry,” Romni said somberly. The boy  nodded but said nothing and kept his tear-filled eyes  averted.  

“Walding,” Dalma said softly, “I know this is  hard. Death is never easy. But such things are a part  of life. It is the great balance of existence, life and  death. And you, like us, can harness that cosmic balance to your own ends, within reason, of course.”  Walding looked at him, hopeful but mostly confused.  “You are Chosen, Walding,” Dalma finished.  Walding wiped his eyes as he looked to Dalma in  wonder.  

“I thought it might be that,” he finally said  looking to his hands. “I wish I wasn’t though. Those  things wouldn’t have come otherwise. They’ve been  after me. They came from the woods. My dad held  them off. And me and my mom hid but then . . .” he  looked away, wiping his eyes again. “I didn’t know  where else to go.”  

“The burden is heavy for us with the gift, child,” Dalma said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And you certainly have the gift. That was quite an impressive display just now. I can’t say I’ve  seen one so young and with such raw talent as you.”

“Our fellow Chosen, Kirqan, will be thrilled. He’s a bit of an acquired taste and a good man at  heart, but he does so love to remind everyone how  naturally gifted he is. It will be good to introduce him  to another who is even more so,” Romni said as he smiled warmly, but the boy held up a hand, as if he had suddenly remembered something. His eyes raced back and forth, as if he were reading an  invisible text that rushed before his eyes. Romni  waved informally from across the way at the boy’s  apparent distress. “Ah, not to worry, boy. It’ll be good  fun to show him he is not the only one with raw skill!”  

“If it isn’t clear already, we’d like you to join  us! And you’ll like Kirqan,” Dalma said, and then with  the boy in unison, “Arrogant but a nice fellow.”  

Dalma straightened abruptly and glanced  toward Romni. Romni’s jaw clenched as they both  looked to the young Walding, who was searching  deep in his memories. “I’ve seen this,” the boy said  fearfully as the rain began once more in slow, heavy droplets. “I remember that line, joking about raw talent. And next . . .” Walding looked to Dalma with  worry but mostly fear.  

“Not a happy ending, I take it?” Dalma asked  with an eerie calm as he drew his sword and motioned for Walding to join them.  

“There are more,” Romni said cautiously,  looking into the fading dusk light at the woods  around them.  

“You must leave!” Walding cried. “I’ve just seen your deaths! Please go!”

“One thing you will come to learn of your  visions, Walding, is that nothing is set in stone until  the moment it happens,” Dalma said calmly as he  closed his eyes and clasped his hands around his sword hilt with both thumbs touching and pointing up  and both pinkies pointing down. Romni drew his sword and scanned the darkening woods for  movement. Walding watched nervously, half looking  to the woods and half trying to recall what would  happen next.  

Dalma turned, breaking his concentration and throwing his sword toward Romni with all his  might. Romni fell flat on his back to dodge it as the shriek of a creature echoed in the dark. A tree uprooted and wretched forward, green ooze spilling  from the bark as it altered into another spoof,  writhing with the sword still through its torso. From  around them a great many shrieks were heard in the woods, a terrible demonstration of the numbers  assembled.  

“Romni, it is time,” Dalma said calmly, pulling  the sword from the dying monster and hacking its  featureless head from its body. “And Walding, you’ll want to stay close to me.” Romni nodded as he  handed his sword to Walding and then clasped his hands in the same strange way Dalma did. The rain  fell steadily as Walding took his place beside Dalma, his eyes wide and frightened at the angry shrieks  that echoed around them. He held the sword in an awkward ready stance. A mist formed around  Romni, as if the cold rain was vaporizing upon his  skin. Walding saw that it was in fact steam and that despite the rain, Romni’s clothing appeared dry.

“Ready,” Romni said, keeping his eyes closed.  

“Perfect, act accordingly. They are coming .  . . now,” Dalma said, as if counting the seconds. On  cue, from the woods around them, the spoofs charged in the growing darkness. Their numbers  were as bountiful as the pines, and Walding shuffled  a step closer to Dalma instinctually. Some ran at them in the forms of trees and animals, of humans  and trolls, of goblins and lurkers, but most were in  their natural, featureless bodies.  

“Left!” Dalma said, as he pivoted backward and hacked through the torso of the nearest tree spoof. Romni looked to his left and, with his hands  still clasped, breathed deeply before exhaling a  spout of fire from his mouth that enveloped the  nearest group of attackers in red hot flame.  

“Behind!” Dalma instructed as he parried the slicing strikes of the nearest spoof’s long knifelike feet. Romni turned backward and exhaled again, setting ablaze another set of spoofs. Dalma’s hand  pushed Walding out of harm’s way as he sliced the  head of a spoof that managed to avoid Romni’s  flames. With a pivot and another gentle shove,  Dalma moved Walding another step closer to Romni  as he hacked through monster after monster.  

“Here!” Dalma said, evading the charge of a troll-like spoof. Romni circled toward the fleeing pair and, releasing his hands for a moment, let forth an  explosive blow onto the attackers, sending them  backward in a heap of flaming flesh. Together the pair worked systematically, Dalma shouting orders  and directions and Romni letting loose flame from his mouth and hands with devastating destruction.  They were always a step ahead, especially Dalma,  who seemed to know precisely when the next attack  would come as he dodged and parried with  impeccable precision. The spoofs’ numbers dwindled, and some retreated into the deepening  dark of the woods. One leapt desperately from its  concealment in the overgrown garden and fiercely tackled Romni near the smoldering home’s doorway.  It shrieked in pain as its limbs were set ablaze from  the contact before Romni gave it a fierce kick, which exploded in a ball of fire and sent the monster sprawling backward.  

“I did not see that in my vision!” Dalma said  slicing at a spoof that was uncomfortably close to hacking him in two. “We’re outside of my view!”  

“Not out of mine!” Walding said, terrified as  he ducked away. “Behind you!”  

Dalma rolled to the side and dodged a tree  trunk flung at him by the narrowest of margins.  “Good call, kid!” Dalma said as Romni set the attacker ablaze with a fireball.  

“You’re alive?” Walding asked wildly.  

“Keep them coming, Walding, what next?” Dalma said as he engaged the next nearest spoof,  whose fierce face was transformed to that of a goblin.  

“I don’t know! You died there in my vision! Crushed! And then I was ripped apart myself!”  

“Good! We’ve split from that vision then!” Dalma said as he tore the goblin in two. “As I said, nothing is set until the moment it happens, Walding!  We have the power to change our futures! Now focus! Breath in the scene. Feel it in your mind.”  

“I can’t!” Walding cried.  

“You can, Walding!” Romni said as he sent forth a barrage of flames from his hands. “There is endless power to tap into! You only need to reach  forth for it!”

“You can feel it, Walding, just as we can!”  Dalma continued. “You already have done it before,  but you’re afraid now!”  

“Because I killed them!” Walding cried as tears rolled down and the rain turned to torrential sheets of water. The wind whipped the trees as lightning flashed in the darkness, and thunder  bellowed deeply around them. “I didn’t mean to!  These things came, I tried to stop them and I. . . .”  He dropped to his knees and dropped his sword as  the storm raged. Dalma tried to move closer but the  spoofs offered him no reprieve.  

“The struggle emboldens us, Walding!” He called as loud as he could through the storm. “Do not  fall victim! Overcome! You are strong, Walding,  stronger than you think. But it doesn’t matter if I think  it! You must think it! You must believe it! You are Chosen, boy! Tap in to your potential and set things  right!”  

Walding looked over to Dalma, fighting for his  life against the onslaught of monsters, and to Romni,  desperately sending flames into the surrounding  space. Dalma had only just met him. They both had. They couldn’t know anything about him. But they were fighting to their deaths for him, willing to do  whatever it took to stop the swarming monsters. The surge of dejection toward his pitiful state in the mud could not be denied. He looked out to the dark  woods where the shuffle of the beasts could be seen through the pouring rain and the smoldering fires. He  gripped the sword he had dropped with white  knuckles and held it upright before him with both  hands just as Dalma had. He felt it. The warmth in  his hands and forearms was soothing and tranquil. It  felt right. He tried to mimic Dalma’s hands. When his  thumbs and pinkies touched, he felt a surge of energy, of increased heat and potential. The hair on  the back of his neck rose from his body as the  crackling of static could be felt in the air. He could  feel everything.  

“Good Walding!” Dalma yelled with a smile.  “What do you see? What do you feel?”  

“Life and death.”  

The release of electric capacity into kinetic lightning flashed around them. Trees split and crackled. The dirt shook. The sound of yelps and  surprise were barely heard above the impact of the  storm. The sky was daylight for an instant and then  dark again. Fires around the hut smoldered in the lessening rain. And a thunderous roll from the clouds above shook the ground. The smell of charred wood  and flesh was dampened by the rain, but it still dominated the senses. Nothing moved. Walding  alone stood in the darkness before dropping to a  knee with wobbly balance. Dalma and Romni sat up  in dazed wonder as the rain slowed, and they made their way over to the shaking Walding, who fell hard to his face. They turned him over in a panic and found him breathing shallow breaths, with an aged  face that slowly morphed back to that of a young  boy.  

“By Phont . . .” Romni said in relieved  fascination. “He nearly killed himself with the power  he channeled!”  

“Without a doubt. Quite something without  any formal training, but we will need to be careful with this one. We are very lucky he is still with us,” Dalma said while patting the boy’s shoulder in the  light drizzle.  

“He struck an entire horde, Dalma!” Romni said looking over the destruction in joyful astonishment. “Think of what good we can do with a  force like this on our side!”  

“He has certainly changed the future,” Dalma  said thoughtfully. “Perhaps more than we know.”