Come. Come to me now. Sshhh, shh, it's okay.
C'mon, on my lap. Okay. It's okay. It will be – you're so cold! How long have you been waiting?
Don't worry. Doesn't matter. C'mon. We just have to wait now. Together. They'll tell us something when they can. Nothing we can do. No, not even you.
Some things we mustn't interfere with.
Yes.
Even when it's them.
Just have to wait. We'll watch each other, okay?
How about a story?
Okay?
The first one. Their first one.
Yes, I know. I'm making an exception. It's a bit foggy now, but it's a good story.
Come. Sit calmly. That's good. It's okay.
The whisper was insistent. It escaped lips and trailed through the palace halls quiet and certain as the swishing of velvet robes on marble floors. The whisper told the rumour, the rumour came from the prophecy, and the mention of the prophecy had been forbidden in the Kingdom of the seventh planet. The King, renowned for both military genius and unmatched swordsmanship, had made the threat personally. Any found spreading gossip and nonsense of this particular quality would meet with the penalty of death!
But we all know gossip is far too irresistible. Anyway, the kingdom was too preoccupied to fulfil such a promise. So the rumour – or the prophecy – continued. It was not limited to that Kingdom, but indeed stretched to the known solar system. From – as we call them now – to the scholars of Mercury to the watchers of Pluto. Dearest Pluto. Such names did not exist then, nor such language as we have now, those languages are long gone.
Our cultures.
Our people.
But then they were vibrant; alive and evolving! All part of the story of where we belong. But it was there, the seventh planet, the one now called Uranus, where the prophecy was most on the minds and tongues of the population. The prophecy – one that had plagued the dreams of the King – was this:
There was a crack in the joy of the allied Kingdoms. In time, a time now felt to be imminent, an impossible force of dark energy would surge over our worlds. The horror of the visions, the cruelty and impenetrability of these forces had overwhelmed soothsayers, leading some to faint when conjuring apparitions. Priestesses of Mars told of thick advancing armies. The philosophers of Neptune spoke of hollow men, of faceless, faultless warriors that would fight beyond reason; there would be no mercy. No prisoners. The detail of these premonitions changed, but some things were certain; there was not dream of life beyond. Not a glimmer. But what was more pressing, what concerned the citizenry most of all, was that the series of events began with the birth of seven women – seven girls – from seven Kingdoms baring a blazing symbol on their foreheads. The eldest of these, the first to be born and to herald the coming darkness would be the daughter of Uranus.
The Queen was pregnant.
The population was uneasy.
If it was this daughter to bring on the misery of worlds, then the solution must be to eradicate – even if it was a royal child – the infant? Think of all the others who might be lost. There were other royal heirs, well loved, well presented and certainly without any demarcation of destruction.
These seven daughters were destined to be the soldiers protecting our worlds. And they were destined to fail. This daughter spelt nothing but ruin.
The King refused to hear such stories. He had bloodied the noses of several advisers in recent weeks. He was a master of war. But he was also a papa.
You know how those can be.
It was early in Earth's calendar when she arrived. She screamed. The King and queen cried. The midwife smiled. Then she stopped. She thrust the baby into the arms of the King and rushed from the room clasping a charm hung from her neck, chanting under her breath.
The King looked down into the light of the symbol shining from his child's forehead. Horror creased his handsome brow. For a moment he felt he might drop her. His wife whimpered, clasping the blood-stained sheets, equally enraptured.
"Please," she whispered, "let me have her?"
As she spoke it, he knew she meant it in two ways. He knew too, all things occurring as predicted, they would not have her long. She may live in stories, in legend even, but she would never grow old.
The baby looked up and screamed no longer. Perhaps she understood the importance of the blurry head above her.
"Until she is three," he said, returning the bundle to the arms of his wife, "then she is old enough to begin training. I will take her then."
"But her brothers and sister, they will…"
"They should never meet." He said.
The queen said nothing, but looked as though her world had already ended.
"There is no need to upset them." The King said.
"But they already know –"
"Tell them she was born sleeping."
The baby kicked. She was not destined to be a heavy sleeper.
She was given a name I can no longer remember, in a language never recorded, but for now we might adopt the rough translation of 'Haruka.'
The queen remained away from public scrutiny in the early days. Attention seemed to settle. The midwife was wise enough to keep the truth secreted in her mind and her head attached to her neck. Perhaps, the people thought, the King had seen reason and dealt with the problem swiftly. There was no baby in sight. The whispers drifted away.
The baby, as the royal couple discovered, was taking on her father's looks. More so than her siblings ever had. It was a discovery that impressed and alarmed the King. She had his same eyes, curious and quick. She had his colouring; would likely have the same head of hair that impressed a great number of women (and several men!) of the court. The queen, unquestionably, was pretty. Her elder children were equally so, in a quiet and gentle way. They made up lovely portraits and were frequently cooed over by visitors, but the King had a look of his own. It may have been the athleticism that developed with prowess in battle. It may have been his lack of thought for his striking profile, his vibrant eyes, his confident posture. He had married into the royal family as the former King's most talented general. Some considered it had been a tactical move, but then again, they seemed happy. They were generally. But the new baby remained a source of anxiety.
Then the daughter of Neptune was born. The symbol shone. The neighbouring Kingdom had no qualms about making the announcement. Their people regarded it a blessing, not a curse. Their hope. Not so on the seventh Kingdom. The whispered worries boiled up into a hissing, a groaning a howling of betrayal! The prophecy was no rumour – and somewhere somewhere – the first child must have been secreted away! The queen was immediately tucked and locked away into an uninhabited corner of the palace. She remained there for days. Guards were stationed at all entry points. The baby did not cry.
The King paced. He was losing sleep. He was losing the trust of his people. He needed to speak. It would not wait.
"Uranians!" He called out. An assembly of thousands had been gathered next morning for the news. He was no aristocrat. He knew when to talk to the public directly.
"It has been foretold, and it is so. There is a daughter!"
A wave of hissing, groaning, howling despair passed across the crowd. It gained volume and momentum like a firestorm as one after another recognised that their descent could not be trampled.
The King waited, hands behind his back, for the collective voice to reach its zenith.
"Uranians!" Several moments more and the voice had reduced enough that he was audible. "We do not fold before challenge. We do not try to outwit the fates. No!"
The crowd remained unconvinced.
"Kill it!" A call came.
The King turned. The assembly was silenced.
"And what, friend?" Said the King in a low voice, "Would you have us kill the children of Neptune? Of our allies in Jupiter, Mars, Venus, Mercury? The future princess of the moon? Would your solution be to slaughter these too?"
The possessor of the lone voice cowered. The King turned his attention away.
"These children are to defend us. My child will defend us. I know because I will train her myself. She will be spared no drill. She will be the pride of the Uranian army, the greatest fighter this world has ever seen! This is my solemn pledge."
The tide of voices seemed to turn at this. The King's own intervention? Who better than he?
"It is We! We of the seventh planet who have the finest military!"
The crowd called back in recognition.
"Whose stories send foes shaking?"
"Ours!
"Whose army stops for none?"
"Ours!"
"Whose victory will it be?"
"Ours!"
"And who then brings the storm?"
"We are the storm!"
Meanwhile the queen had made up her own mind to take action. In her room was a long gold edged mirror. A portal none had considered. You see, at that time, communication could be made through the use of magic and mirrors. It wasn't viewed with the same suspicion as today. Those trained in the art, as nobles tended to be, were able to make use of incantations to access the image and voice of those many, many lightyears apart.
Yes, I suppose it was like Skype. But with better line quality.
Through the mirror the queen had contacted the mother of the new child of Neptune. She wasn't the queen, or not the only queen – not quite. The Neptunian family structure was rather more… complex. Philosophers. Polyamory. That is really a story for another time. When you're older.
The new child was given a name I can no longer remember, in a language never recorded, but for now we might adopt the rough translation of 'Michiru.'
The mothers of Neptune and Uranus held up to the mirrored surfaces their infants to be inspected.
"She is so small!" exclaimed the latter.
"She is. And quiet. Your little girl will look like her father I think. But lovely."
"They are both lovely."
"I am sorry for your troubles. Your confinement."
"It will be well. I feel your example, and that of your people, will help us. Presently my husband speaks to an assembly. He tends to charm."
"So I have heard."
The daughter of Neptune chirruped and stretched out a sleepy arm. It touched the mirrors surface sending shivering ripples.
"My! Will you be a talented diviner I wonder?" said her mother.
The daughter of Uranus cooed and kicked out a foot. The symbol on her forehead appeared again.
"Is that your friend?" Her mother asked.
"This little one is glowing!" Said the woman across the glass. "Do you think it is safe? I know they are not meant to meet, but I thought through this distance."
"I'm sure it's quite fine." Spoke the queen of Uranus a little quickly. She had had rather enough of predictions. "Look at them. I just can't see them causing any damage. Certainly not now."
"Nor can I. This feels a reasonable distance."
"I miss seeing you."
"I know."
"Say goodbye, Haruka, say bye-bye to your friend. We'll try see her again."
"In secret is best?"
"It may be the only way."