Shadows of Prophecy. Rachel Lee

her back to earth. Tess realized they were alone in the temple now; even the clan mothers had disappeared.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to gather herself.

      “Did you see something? The mothers thought you were communing and left you to be in peace.”

      “I don’t know.” Tess tilted her head again and looked upward, but this time the symbols on the ceiling merely looked like a foreign language and tugged at her not at all. “I felt something, but…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps I’m simply tired.”

      “We should go back to our room, then. It’s time for a meal, and it’s growing chillier even in here.”

      Tess nodded and began to follow Sara out of the temple and through the nave. A carving caught her eye in the nave, however, and drew her immediately to it.

      “What is it?” Sara asked. “Do you recognize it?”

      “I don’t…” Tess shook her head, trying to find a way to describe what she was feeling. “I don’t remember it, exactly. But it’s familiar somehow, as if I should remember it.” Hesitantly she reached out to touch the symbol and run her hand over it. At once it was as if she could hear music.

      She snatched her hand back sharply.

      “Tess?”

      “Touch it, Sara, and tell me if you sense anything.”

      Sara’s brow knitted, but she obeyed, placing her fingertips on the lines that delineated the symbol, drawing them gently over it as Tess had. Then she, too, yanked her hand back.

      “Music,” she breathed.

      “Aye,” murmured Tess.

      “But what does it mean?”

      “I know not.” Then a thought struck her, and with it a sense of wonderment. “It is as if they are trying to speak to us.”

      Sara’s mouth opened with awe, and slowly she placed her hand on the symbol again. “Aye,” she whispered. “Aye. It plays the same notes again.”

      Lowering her hand, she looked at Tess. “What shall we do?”

      “I think perhaps we should ask the Telneren if they hear the music, too.”

      “And what if they don’t?”

      “Then we may have found the means of the transmission of the Mysteries.”

      “Oh!” Sara’s eyes grew huge.

      “It would be wonderful if we could understand it.”

      Sara surprised her with a little giggle. “Aye, there is that, isn’t there? What good is an answer if you cannot understand it?”

      * * * *

      The war councils had already begun. When Tess and Sara returned to the guest lodging, they found that all the men, except Tom, had gone.

      “They’re meeting somewhere,” Tom told them. “To discuss strategy for an Anari uprising. Gewindi-Tel is too weak now to act alone, but there are other Tels, many of them, and there are thousands living in the great Anari city of Anahar. So they are discussing how best to get started.”

      Sara at once sat beside him. The fire was blazing brightly, and more food had replaced the earlier repast, spread atop one of the stone pallets. “Why aren’t you with them?”

      “Archer wanted me to stay here to look after the two of you.” He looked as if he felt a little dismayed by that order.

      “Well, I am glad you are here to be our champion,” Sara said stoutly. “I would have missed you.”

      Tom brightened, and Tess turned away to hide her smile. She was, she realized, still ravenous, so she picked up a small stone bowl and began to fill it with tantalizing tidbits. “I wonder,” she said, “that they can afford to feed us so well.”

      “Apparently the evil winter didn’t strike early here as it did up north,” Tom answered. “I was talking with Jenah about that. He had heard of what was happening but had no idea it was as severe as it was, especially around Derda.”

      Just as Tess began to feel replete with food and was considering stretching out on her bedroll, which someone had kindly spread for her, Archer entered the lodging, along with a blast of winter’s breath.

      “We must pack and leave at once,” he said.

      Tess leaped to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

      “The entire village is making ready to leave. Bozandari revenge is about to arrive.”

      5

      Archer sat astride his mount, watching the line of villagers as they made their way up into the crags of the mountains above the town. It was a moonless night, but somehow the cliff faces reflected enough starlight to make the path visible.

      It was also a terrible night to be exposed to the elements. The bitter, icy wind rushed down from the north, bringing with it the smell of snow soon to fall. Men and women alike carried the younger children in their arms, even though they also bore heavy packs on their backs. Every single member of Gewindi-Tel had tried to bring enough to get them as far as Anahar.

      Archer doubted they had succeeded. Even with his party’s packhorses loaded as fully as they could be, no one could carry enough. They would have to hope they would be given food as they passed through other villages.

      And that they would grow this small seed of an army.

      There were no elderly among the Anari. They did not age as did other men. Created at the hands of the Ilduin, they had been gifted with long life and extraordinary health. Aye, they could die from illness and injury, but illness seldom befell them. They grew older, more mature, and were less likely to want adventure than the younger members of the group, but until the day they died they worked the fields and the stones as strongly as anyone.

      The reduction in their numbers, the shrinking of the clans, had come about only because of the Bozandari and their rapacious ways.

      The long lives of the Anari, Archer thought, should have warned the Bozandari that eventually trouble would come. For among even this band of Anari, probably a third of them could still remember the times before the slavers had come and conquered them. These elders helped keep the flame of freedom alive in the hearts of their people.

      Bowed but not broken, he thought. The Bozandari would never understand.

      As the last members of the column passed him, he turned his mount and began to follow. When he reached a promontory, he paused to look back. He could see the torches of the approaching Bozandari army to the northeast, but they were yet a long way from the village.

      This group would escape. Satisfied, he spurred after them.

      Giri emerged from the night a short time later and fell in beside him. “We’ll be well away by first light.”

      “Aye.”

      Another icy gust of wind blew down the funnel of the mountains and into their faces. For an instant Archer felt the sting of sleet. Then it was gone.

      “What I do not understand,” Giri said, when the wind would no longer snatch away his words, “is why the Bozandari have suddenly become…worse. ’Twas bad enough when they could come into the telners, taking the strongest and best to make into slaves or whores, but never before did it seem that they wanted to rid the world of all Anari. After all, we have been their garden of new slaves.”

      Archer rode silently for a minute or two, thinking over how much he should tell his friend. He did not wish to dishearten Giri, but on the other hand…

      “There is a worse evil afoot in this world, my friend, than Bozandar and its armies. I fear this evil is using the Bozandari as he used Lantav Glassidor and his minions.”

      “What is this evil?”