Hey Prophecy fans! Happy Groundhog Day!
Ugh. The weather has just been awful here for the last two weeks and my classes have been less that accommodating so usually I've been too stressed out and tired to work on this. But my friends have been wonderful and my muses forgiving (for once). Sorry Sarvavi, but it's true…
But enough about me.
Chapter 9: Connections and Prophecies
Cold was so unforgiving. Give it even the tiniest spark of heat and it will devour it completely without a second thought. Crush its spirit and chew at it mercilessly until it forgets what it is to feel heat and knows nothing but the cold.
He ran his hand over the chain around his ankle. It didn't feel cold, but that was because he was now as cold as everything else around him. He felt nothing. He tried to thread his numb fingers through the links of the chain, rake his ragged nails down his leg, desperate to feel something… anything. But it wasn't the same. The cold dulled every sensation, turned everything into a dead world where everything felt the same. Everything was dead.
The cold was creeping into his mind even, so that not a single thought was clear. The fire that had once burned so brightly in his chest seemed to be gasping for breath. His eyes felt like they had been gouged out and left empty.
Still he fought. He had to. There was a reason for why he was here, if only his mind would let him remember it. People he was protecting… a greater purpose to serve… soaring through the skies… looking….. for…. Someone…
A low note sounded, echoing endlessly off the unyielding stone walls, fading into the darkness like a ship passing by a pier and continuing on its way into the dark sea. It pierced the shroud around his mind like a knife. Suddenly, he remembered. For the first time in days, his body moved.
He groped forward in the darkness, away from the stone and towards the bars that held him inside. The chain dragged loudly on the floor but did not hold him back. When his fingers met the equally cold metal of the bars and the chain stretched taut, he stopped, waiting.
A hand reached his through the bars and squeezed his hand tightly. A rush of heat ran through him at the touch and rekindled that fire within that the cold had all but stomped out. He could feel again. He smiled and reached forward in the darkness until he found the other hand.
"Hello." He whispered, taking both hands in his own and entwining his icy fingers with the visitor's warm ones.
A strange, strangled sob came from outside his cell. The hand in his grip trembled and he gently kissed it until it stilled. The hand squeezed his in return.
They would stay like this all night, holding each other in the darkness until the time came for the visitor to go back to the light outside. Their hands would keep him warm, give him the fire and light he so craved to live. Their presence would remind him why he was here. Who he was fighting for.
He lifted his face until he could feel their warm breath on his skin. The warm, sweet air sent tingles of heat down his frozen spine, driving back the cold, the ice melting at its gentle caress. The feeling ran right down to the confinement around his ankle that kept them from leaving this place together.
For the first time in a long time, he smiled. His fire had returned. "I knew you'd come back…"
"So you decided to come."
Becky shifted on the wooden bench and attempted a smile for the professor. "Yes, I did."
It had been surprisingly easy to get here this morning. Once again, Sarvavi had been absent when she woke up but there had been no note this time. So Becky had scooped up the books Sarvavi had mentioned in previous night and headed for the library just as the horizon began to lighten with the promise of sunrise.
The library was inside the largest of the 'Sa temple buildings and felt exactly like a library should. The books were crowded noisily on the groaning shelves, smelling equally of heavy use and neglect. The long, stained tables that filled what little space was left in the room were empty but for a few candle stubs and pens in the early hours of the morning. The high windows along the walls were just beginning to glow with the light of the morning sun. When a deep breath was drawn, the air was heavy with hidden truths and whispered secrets.
Wisemann set his books down on the table and lowered himself into the bench opposite hers.
"So, Wordgirl is it?" Becky nodded, adjusting her hood slightly. After the close scrape with Tobey the night before, she decided it was better to wear it everywhere now. Although it clashed horribly with her brown and white outfit.
Wisemann pulled a pen and several loose sheets of paper towards him. "How can I help you?" He asked, beginning to work but glancing up periodically to show he was still giving her his attention.
Becky had thought long and hard about the questions she wanted answered. Of course, she knew she also had to be careful not to reveal anything about who she was. She didn't think there was any reason she shouldn't trust the amiable professor but figured the subject was best remained un-discussed until she knew more.
She decided to start simple. "Who exactly are you?" She asked him.
Wisemann looked up and immediately had to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as they took the opportunity to slide away.
"Sarvavi didn't mention me?" He asked without a hint of disappointment.
Becky shook her head and he returned to his writing.
"Understandable I suppose. She never really forgave me after that night…" he said casually as if Becky knew what he was talking about.
"Sorry?"
He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Satoshin Wisemann of the Wisemann Thinker tribe of the Western City of Academia." He glanced up at her. A wry smile peeked out from under the glasses. "But I prefer just Wisemann or Sato. I'm a professor of cultural history and philosophy at Lexicon's West University. I tutored Sarvavi for several years in her youth." He sighed quietly and paused for a moment to refill his pen and flick a spare drop of ink from the tip. "At least until we reached material she wasn't willing to learn…"
At that moment, there was a flash of red light by the door, followed quickly by the sound of something breaking. Both Becky and Wisemann whipped around in time to see Falcoté pause briefly in flight, hovering a few feet above the ground in the doorway.
"Aw come on Manny!" He shouted behind him. "Admit it! You'll miss me while you're on your journey!" Then he was dashing out of sight again, leaving behind nothing but a trail of red light and a loud chuckle.
A second later, Manvansa ran by in hot pursuit, spewing several expletives at something a little louder than an indoor voice as he hefted another unfortunate projectile.
Becky turned back to the professor with a questioning look. He only shook his head with a sad smile.
"That's nearly a daily occurrence… I'll miss that…" He chuckled quietly and returned to his writings.
"So exactly what's up with those two?" Becky asked him. Now that she had seen the flying man again, her curiosity about the possibility of his relation to her was brought to the front of her mind.
"They're always at each other's throats." The professor explained. "Manvansa hates how disrespectful Falcoté can be and Falcoté is just…. well…. Let's say his life seems incredibly simple and carefree by comparison to Manvansa's."
"Really? What's his story?" She meant Falcoté of course but Wisemann misinterpreted the question.
"From what I understand of it, Manvansa came here to make his own way in the world." He replied, not noticing (or ignoring) Becky's slightly exasperated look as he stared at his paper contemplatively. "He comes from the Excelsior tribe, a very prestigious tribe of strong-men and women. His parents were highly regarded nobility within his tribe. But he left when he was a teenager and came here."
"Really?" Becky couldn't imagine voluntarily leaving family behind. But then she realized that was exactly what she had done in coming home to Lexicon.
Wisemann nodded. "I asked him about it once and he only said he wanted to make his own way in the world and his family had other plans for him. Plans he didn't like. So he left."
Wisemann paused and refilled his pen again. Sensing the end of that topic, Becky rose the next one.
"What about Falcoté?"
Wisemann shrugged and pulled a fresh sheet towards him. "He's been on his own most of his life. No family, no ties, no past he likes to speak of. A genuine lone-flyer if you ever saw one. He only joined the rebellion as a favor to Sarvavi." His pen traced across the surface, words blooming in its path.
"A favor?" Becky inquired, hoping this wasn't prying too much.
"She apparently helped him a few years ago…" Wisemann answered thoughtfully. "When he was in a dark place…" His pen continued to glide lithely over the paper, Becky had to yank her eyes away from the performance.
"What happened?"
The pen stopped moving. "They won't say… but apparently it had something to do with Sarvavi's mysterious leave of absence a few years ago…" He had become thoughtful and quiet.
"What are you talking about?"
"One day she just got up and left without telling anyone." Wisemann said, his gaze directed down the length of the table, lost in thought.
Briefly, Becky wondered if staring off into space was a habit of his but quickly refocused herself to the task at hand. "Where did she go?" She asked.
It appeared as if Wisemann's mouth was operating on auto-pilot while his mind worked away at some tantalizing new idea. "Won't say." He said. "She came back obviously… but she was gone a long time….. and after she returned she knew him. So I assume that was when they met."
Something in the back of Becky's mind was nagging at her. "How long was she gone?"
The pen had been still for quite some time now. "A good number of months… for awhile I feared she had died from the ceremony…" His voice trailed off as if he had suddenly realized he was still talking.
"Ceremony?" Her heart quickened for some reason, like an answer was waiting for her. Just out of reach.
But Wisemann suddenly grew solemn and quiet. "I'm sorry but I can't tell you about that." He said, breaking out of his pensive mood to shuffle his papers and fiddle with his pen anxiously.
But this only piqued Becky's curiosity. "Why not?"
"I'm not a member of the temple council. I cannot discuss it." But he looked up at Becky, the promise of a secret on his face and he leaned forward to whisper. "I will say however that whatever happened at that ceremony and during her disappearance had a huge impact on Sarvavisa."
He paused for a second to let the words sink into the silence of the room. Becky said nothing but felt the ghost of a shiver go through her.
"She changed while she was away…" The professor told her. "I'm afraid she may have lost something she can't get back." There was another silence in which they stared at each other, the possible implications of this knowledge hanging in the air between them.
After a few seconds, he leaned back again as if nothing had happened and resumed his writing. "Well, she has the rebellion now… something to keep her occupied and focused." His tone was suddenly off-handed, almost conversational as if trying to prove that he wasn't all that concerned about it. But he seemed to know he wasn't fooling his companion at all.
Becky sensed another lull in the conversation so she brought up her next question. "How did you come to be here?"
He made a strange flicking motion with his pen before refilling it yet again. "I've had an academic relationship with the temple for years, so most of the human recruitment for new novices has always fallen to me. I never officially joined the Rebellion but I'm here so often that I might as well be." The silence descended again. Apparently that was all there was too that particular story.
Becky's next question was how he had come to know the warrior but the professor had already answered that. As she fumbled for her next question however, the professor dropped his pen, pulled off his spectacles and regarded her with the full strength of his piercing gaze.
"How did you meet Sarvavisa?" He asked suddenly.
Becky felt as if the air in the room had suddenly decided to get up and leave. She took a second to calm herself before answering.
"She… she came to my hometown looking for…. Something….and well…. One thing led to another and here I am!" Her voice jumped half an octave at the end of her statement but she covered it with a reassuring smile.
The professor nodded knowingly.
"I was surprised to hear she finally took on an apprentice. She's been a 'Sa warrior over five years now. She certainly has a lot to teach you."
The glasses went back on his nose. "What has she done to you so far?" He asked, resuming his rhythmic writing.
Feeling her heart-rate slow back to normal, Becky leaned back in her chair slightly. "Well, yesterday we went flying." She said. She smiled at the memory, recalling the utter freedom that the warrior had taught her. "We flew over the cliffs, the gorge, the Valleys…"
The pen abruptly stopped. "Even… the Valley of Fire?" Wisemann asked in a hushed tone.
Becky nodded. "Yes…. We landed there actually."
The pen slipped from the professor's grip and rolled away across the table. "How did you get her to go back to that place?" He asked his eyes wide.
"What do you mean?" She asked, confused.
Wisemann swallowed hard. "Sarvavi… has refused to visit that place. She avoids it like a deadly disease." He shook his head in wonder. "How did you get her to land there?"
"I…. I just flew there, and she followed me…"
Wisemann was looking troubled. Becky recalled Sarvavi's strange mood when she was in the Valley. The way she seemed to be all at once at home and hopelessly lost.
"Why…? Why doesn't she like that place?" Becky asked.
Wisemann pulled the glasses off his nose and laid them on the table. Without them, he looked significantly older. He rubbed his eyes gently as he spoke. "That's where she grew up. Her tribe lived in that valley before the fire-ball destroyed it. Klyeansa and his sons found her there just after the explosion. She was the only survivor."
He stared at the wall and spoke sadly. "She's the last living member of the Eychanten tribe."
Silence descended on the room. Becky could feel her heart tightening. Suddenly it all made sense: the warrior's icy detachment, her actions in the Valley, her reluctance to talk about her past. What had been a valley of death for her must have been a place of unspeakably painful memories for the warrior. She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling terrible.
"Is that..?"
She didn't even have to finish her broken thought. Wisemann nodded sadly.
"Just who are, were they?" She asked the professor. "The Eychantens I mean."
He sighed and placed his glasses back on his nose before turning to answer her. "No one knows that much about them, records are scarce. Most of our "knowledge" of them is based on legends and rumors. The most we know for certain is that they were a small group of Sensors living in that valley everyone thought was haunted. But if Sarvavi's any example, I bet they were really unique." He smiled slightly and shuffled his papers around.
Becky frowned. "Why don't you just ask her?"
Wisemann smiled grimly. "She never talks about them. Maybe she doesn't know too much. I'm told she was pretty young when it happened."
"How young?" Becky asked wondering if she really wanted to know the answer.
The professor answered her in a soft, low voice. "8, maybe 9…"
At that moment, any resentment Becky still had towards the warrior fled her. Her heart went out to the mental image of a younger Sarvavi; alone and orphaned at such a young age. An outcast, the only one of her kind. She knew all too well what that was like.
"Maybe she'll talk to you…." Wisemann said. Becky turned back to him to see the professor was examining her carefully.
"Why?"
He smiled warmly at her. "She seems to like you."
Becky was quizzical. "How do you figure? She treats me the same way she treats everyone else…"
"Perhaps." The professor said picking up his abandoned pen. "But you don't see the way she looks at you. You're always on her mind. She worries about you constantly. She's never done that with anyone else."
Becky caught the affectionate tone and the smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
"You care about her." She said. It wasn't a question.
The professor didn't deny it. "… I… I considered her my daughter…" He said with a hint of embarrassment. "And I liked to think she considered me a father figure." He sighed. "For awhile at least…" He refilled the pen and resumed writing.
The question was bursting from her before she could stop it. "Then why does she…?" She paused, unsure if she should finish.
The professor looked up. "Why does she hate me?" Wisemann asked bluntly.
Becky winced slightly but nodded.
"Let's just say our philosophies on destiny and fate don't exactly match and I may have told her something she wasn't ready to accept…"
"Like what?"
The eyes locked with hers. "Please tell me you've heard of the Prophecy of the Star."
Becky shook her head. The professor raised an eyebrow but said nothing about her apparent lack of education.
"Well, I can't recite the whole thing here and now but it's something like this: it promises of a great savior to come. A warrior who will liberate us from a great evil."
"A savior?" Becky wondered where this was going.
He nodded. "The savior is referred to in the Prophecy as 'the Ansa'."
She shivered, visibly she was sure. "What… what exactly is that?"
Wisemann either ignored or didn't notice her familiarity with the term. "No one's really sure." He said. "Academics have been combing the Prophecy for clues for years and we still seem to be no closer." Having completely covered the paper before him in tiny neat penmanship, he drew a fresh sheet towards him and began writing again.
"The dominating theory is that the term "Ansa" comes from two original root words: ancoé a "guiding spirit" and 'sarcon, a suffix for "warrior." He said, his writing keeping perfect time with his lecture.
"So roughly it quite literally translates to 'angel-warrior'."
Becky had to admit it had a nice ring to it. "What does this have to do with Sarvavi?" Becky wondered out loud.
Wisemann hesitated, as if he was unsure he could trust the strange girl in front of him any more than he already had.
Finally he said: "I believe Sarvavi is the Ansa. The angel-warrior."
Becky said nothing.
"I told her as such…" Wisemann continued. "…and she… well… to put it nicely… she disagreed."
"What makes you think it's her?" She asked.
The professor return casually to his writing. "The Prophecy speaks quite clearly of a mark the Ansa will bare: a gold star in their flesh."
Becky put a hand to her chest, where the birthmark suddenly seemed to burn. Lord Inexpert's final words at the trial rang in her ears… "goodbye…... Ansa."
"Sarvavi is the only person on historical records known to possess the mark. I am not the only one to suspect this; many here who meet her agree with me actually. Of course there are those who think she's the…" But he broke off suddenly and would say no more. His eyes had shifted to the time piece on the wall. "I'm sorry but I'm afraid I have to leave soon. I have an important meeting with Zetetic.
Despite everything he had told her, Becky still burned to know more. "I still have so many questions." She said but stood up to leave as well, not wanting to keep him.
He smiled warmly. "The pursuit of knowledge never ends; we can only keep looking in hopes it will be enough."
After a second's hesitation he scribbled the words he had just spoken on a blank piece of paper and folded them into his pocket a little uncomfortably. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" He asked.
Against her will, her eyes flicked to his pile of books, where the copy of A Brief History of Lexicon sat in full view.
"I… I…"
He understood and handed her his copy of the book.
"Take it. I hope you find all the answers you seek."
As she opened her mouth to thank him, a familiar sound suddenly reached her sensitive ears. She ran to the window in a flash, her eyes scanning the horizon. The sun was halfway to its zenith and burned brilliantly behind the receding ring overhead. She hadn't realized just how long they had been talking. The courtyard was alive with warriors and the sounds of everyday work and life floated invisibly from the village below.
Off in the distance, near the edge of the forest, glinting hotly in the sun was a giant robot.
Becky sighed. Even here he can't even….
She turned back to Wisemann, offering him a friendly smile. "Thank you for everything professor. I really appreciate this."
She tucked the thick volume out of sight under Sarvavi's books. "I have to go."
Without another word, she flew out the window to meet the robot, her mind slowly going over everything she had learned and what it could possibly mean.
The professor stared after the strange girl until her trail of light disappeared into the trees below.
Oh Sarvavi. He thought. You tried so hard to avoid this fate and yet it still found you. He turned back to the table. Or perhaps you unintentionally led it back to you?
He picked up his papers and turned the first one on a forty-five degree angle. From this angle, the nonsense words he had scribbled were rearranged to reveal a face hidden among them, a perfect sketch of the girl whose questions he had been answering. He held it up to the light examining the features closely. The small nose, the shaped cheekbones and high eyebrows. It was flawless, an exact replica made of carefully crafted pen strokes. But viewed from any other angle, it appeared to be illegible notes of a professor obsessed with finding a mathematical pattern among the stanzas of the Prophecy. Wisemann had been born a very talented Thinker but often entertained the notion that he possessed another power not granted by the Star. One that enhanced his theories greatly and made him an excellent code-writer: Creativity.
He placed the sketch off to the side and picked up the second sheet. There was no hidden message in this one, at least not one he knew of yet. The calculations that covered the page were neat and legible but led to no logical conclusion. I need another variable before it could make sense.
Wisemann scooped up his coded drawing and the table of equations and tucked them inside the cover of the remaining book he carried. The book he had written himself: Two Moments in Time: A Theory of Universe Dimensions and Subsequent Time Fluxes. He might have been a history buff back at the University but it was the stars and what lay beyond that was his first life-long passion.
He paused for a second to examine the books the flying girl had left behind: Single Variable Calculus and Back to the Roots: Modern Age Lexiconian Vocabulary.
"Starting simple are we Sarvavi?" He chuckled. "I seem to recall being the one to give these to you when you were much younger than she is."
Then he left the library and headed for the office the 'Sa temple had generously provided for him. But all the way his brilliant mind was working, trying to put it all together and refute it all at once.
I really hope I'm wrong. About the Prophecy and about who this Wordgirl really is…
Of course, he'd have to talk to Norava first before he could begin to assume anything.
I bet we all know what's going to happen next. Hopefully I can get it up in less than a month this time. Happy reading!
