Ista's Journey

Chapter Five

Oh, the Headaches

Authors Note: Ahem sorry for my little outburst last chapter. I was frustrated with all the Mary-Sue stories getting great reviews. Here's Ista chapter 5 for your reading pleasure.

Tsukinoko1: That comment about flames was NOT for you. Your review was perfect. But thanks for reminding me I was being a silly wench and being a little...stupid for lack of a better word.

Miss. McCrory: Thank you for your kind words!

And now, onto the show


Genyi bolted forward, as if she was the one with the foresight, not Ista. She tried to catch the Bard, but wasn't fast enough. Ista slumped into a pile on the floor, her sword clattering to the ground. Theodren ran to kneel beside her, pulling off his helmet as he did.

"Ista!" cried Genyi, rolling Ista over, allowing her to breathe.

"What happened?" demanded Theodren as Tyga and Heath joined him on the floor.

"I don't know!" wailed Genyi, on the verge of tears, "This has never happened before. Not when I've been with her. Is she dead?"

"She's not dead, you scatterbrained thick-wit," barked Tyga, yanking Genyi away from Ista's unconscious form. "Look. She's not having any trouble breathing, nor is she seizing. She's just not conscious."

"But that's not normal," half-sobbed Genyi, "She's not supposed to fall down and not move. She's not okay."

"Come on, Sweetling," soothed Heath, pulling Genyi to him, "Theodren and Tyga can handle this. Let's go calm down, and then we'll check back on her. We're doing her no good standing here in the way of people who know how to deal with this."

"Ok," Genyi hiccupped, allowing Heath to put his arm around her shoulders and slowly steer her out of the training hall.

"Any ideas?" queried Tyga, once Heath had the hysterical minstrel out of earshot.

"Brainstorm," answered Theodren with a serious glance, "It's all I can think of that would cause this kind of reaction so suddenly."

"Damn," sighed Tyga, reaching out to check Ista's pulse, "It's completely normal. This is odd."

"Let's find a Healer," grunted Theodren, getting to his feet with Ista in his arms. "Let's find someone who knows what they're doing."


"What do you mean you don't truly understand what's wrong with her," roared King Albayah. "It's your fault. You were the last one to be seen with her."

"Your majesty, she and I were sparring. I did not hit her in the head; I did not do anything to her that would knock her out for this LONG," answered Theodren, his voice rising with every syllable.

"Your little diplomatic entry is no longer being considered!" shouted Albayah, "You destroyed my Ista. She's mine, you know. No one but me can have her and her gifts. But you've broken her. And now she may never be of use again. I ought to have you executed."
"Albie!" spat the Queen as she walked into the room outside the royal Healers' hall, "Albie, you get back to the throne room. There are six petitioners awaiting you!"

"Merili!" ranted the king, sounding like an average ten year old, "I am dealing with these stupid Heralds."

"Albayah," stated Merili, "Go. Now. Please, don't make them wait any more."

"Fine," grunted the king, storming off.

"I apologize for him," lamented Merili, turning to where Theodren, Tyga, Heath and Genyi were waiting on word from the Healers. "He's not right, in case you hadn't noticed. He… he won't be in charge for much longer."

"It's all right, highness," answered Heath, "We're used to dealing with hot-heads."

"How is she?" asked the Queen, "Any new word?"

"No," moaned Genyi, "She's still out of reach."
"And they can't do anything for her?" retorted the queen, wringing her hands, "It's been five days. I need her."

"You need her?" repeated Theodren, trying desperately to get more information out of the queen.

"Yes. She's the one I'm sending to Seejay with you. With her status as a Bard, she'll get the respect needed to actually deal with the government there. She'll probably end up doing some sort of concert, to placate the council of Barons, but that's nothing she can't do. She can try to get your Herald out of trouble."

"Is she capable of that?" remarked Tyga. "All I've seen her ever do is whine, argue and fall down helplessly. We're not going to drag her to Seejay if all she does is whine."

"Tyga," snapped Theodren.

"It's okay," replied Merili, putting her hand on Theodren's shoulder, "She doesn't understand Ista. Ista is far more capable than anyone realises, including herself."

"She's blind," snarled Tyga, fed up with people treating the girl like she was some sort of god-sent avatar. "She's whiney and she can't fend for herself."

"She's a fully capable Bard," snapped Genyi, annoyed at Tyga's constant criticisms, "She has strong mind gifts. She can read music just by holding it. She's got more personality than anyone I know, and she's just a wonderful person."

"And that's not even mentioning the fact that she has foresight," added Merili, with a smile. "She's capable of more than even she knows."

"Foresight is not that great a gift," muttered Tyga, crossing her arms and leaning on the wall.

"I know," replied Ista's voice from inside the room, "Now, all of you, please be quiet."

"Ista!" shrieked Genyi. "Ista, you're awake."

"Indeed," confirmed Ista, "Been awake for a few hours. I'm going to be fine. I just strained myself. I have a devil of a headache. Now, please be quiet."

"You heard her," chirped Genyi, her smile returning in full force, "All of you OUT. She wants quiet, she'll get quiet."


Ista sat in her room, her curtains pulled tightly. Heat, sound, almost everything had made her head hurt more. It had taken a few hours to convince the Healers she would be much more comfortable in her own room, where everything was familiar, and nothing was smelling strongly of potions.

Johan had quietly walked Ista back to her room, only because the Healers didn't trust her to walk by herself, or with little tiny Genyi. Johan left Ista alone in her room, and Ista was fully enjoying it.

Dressed in the soft silky robe that the diplomat from Brendan had given her the last time she was here, Ista padded around her room, and just relaxed. It was a nice change for Ista to not have to worry about anyone but herself and her needs for a change.

Ista's mind was stuck on one subject. And that subject was Theodren, the older of the Heralds. He confused Ista. She was not one to fixate on people, but Theodren made her think. He was kind, and sweet, and did not seem to have a hidden agenda, or need her for anything. It was a different dynamic for Ista, one that was new and strange.

Theodren had a very sexy voice, that was the one thing Ista was sure of. She tried to not think about him, but then just ended up ruminating on Johan, which wasn't much better. Theodren, though much older, at least respected her. Johan was just an ass when it came to Ista doing anything independent. And to Johan, 'independent' only meant 'without Johan.'

Ista shook her head, as if shaking her hair would force her thoughts of Theodren to fall out of her head and leave her alone. Ista did not want a man, she did not need a man, and she certainly could not afford a man who was the diplomatic attaché for the kingdom of Valdemar.

'I can't really afford any men,' thought Ista, 'Never have.'

Genyi was off for the evening, having accepted a dinner invitation from Herald Heath. Ista trusted Heath, not because she knew him, or even really liked him. In fact, she thought he seemed rather pompous. But Ista knew he was a Herald and would not try anything he shouldn't with the fourteen-year-old. Heralds were smarter than THAT.

'Bergen was smart,' thought Ista. 'Although sometimes I wish I'd never met him. He was perfect.'

Bergen was a topic Ista often ruminated on. She had only known him for three months, but he taught her everything. Bergen taught Ista how to defend herself, though not that well, but it was enough. He showed her that people actually care about others and don't need anything. He taught her the basics of shielding, which helped her when her gift decided to actually show up.

Ista had been twelve years old when the gift had 'come upon' her. Most would feel blessed by such a talent, but for Ista it was nothing but trouble. She often referred to her gift as 'that stupid little bitch', as if it was a person whispering in her ear, telling her what to do. When it first presented itself, Ista was left confused and felt like she was drowning. Everyone tried to give her advice, and all Ista wanted was to be left alone.

Ista managed to get it under control after three months of hellish visions of people dying. Ista used the principals that Bergen taught her long ago, the ones to control her touch reading. And somehow she managed to get herself under control.

And then came the bombardment from the King and court. They all wanted information, and Ista was only too pleased to help them. The questions were unending. What are my enemies planning? What are my allies planning? What is the future of this territory? How about that one? Should I plant corn or beans? Cows or sheep?

By the time Ista was fourteen, she was burned out. When she wasn't foreseeing, she was asleep or actually unconscious. All that foreseeing hurt Ista deeply, but she bore it, thinking she was helping everyone. Until the day she got something wrong.

Ista was not truly wrongit was the noble that was wrong. He asked her if he should plant wheat or corn. Ista told him he shouldn't plant either, but didn't say why. She was too tired to care. The noble took 'neither' to mean 'either', and when a flash flood hit, he stormed into the court gardens and beat Ista within an inch of her life, then tried to rape her. Ista nearly died, and not one of the nobles who heard her tortured screams came to her aid. It was Prince Ikan, the second son of Albayah and Merili who saved her life, rescuing the lifeless Ista along with some help from Johan.

It had taken Ista six months to recover from the ordeal. It scarred Ista, both mentally and physically. From then on, Ista saved her gift for herself and the king, who respected her gift and took what she said seriously. Ista was never quite as graceful as she had been, the result of broken bones and torn muscles.

And then there were the internal scars. Ista was once a happy child, eager to please and a joy to be around. She was excited to go out into the world, to be a real Bard. No one told her it wouldn't happen. The attack left Ista with doubts about the nature of people. She stopped being so nice and turned into a withdrawn and angry person. There were a select few who pierced the icy layers and found Ista to be not an angry, sarcastic woman, but more of a scared child.

It had taken Ista seven years to recover enough from the attack to want to leave the palace, but by then the King had decided it was too dangerous to lose his foreseer. And Ista, two weeks before her reaction-headache fainting spell, realised that she never would. Meric, the soon-to-be king, was still just a boy. He would need her, would need her reassurances that what he did would be okay. He would allow her to go, but he was a safety blanket. And Ista knew all about safety blankets.

A gentle knock at the door told Ista that her dinner had arrived. When Ista had retired to her room, Prince Ikan had visited her and asked what she wanted for dinner. Ista's bristly exterior never fooled the palace servants, and Ista let it go. The servants knew she was demanding to a point, but not a fault like the nobles. Ista TOLD you what she wanted, to the letter, and it was never something too hard. Ikan had told her the whole kitchen staff was waiting on her order, and would fix her whatever she wanted.

Rabbit dumplings, she had ordered, with a fresh garden greens salad, and a bubbly pie for dessert. As well, she had asked for two pomegranates and two carafes of tea to aid in her orders to drink the headache potions the Healers gave her. When Ista ordered it, she knew it would please the kitchen to no end. Making some nobles favourite's food was nothing, but Ista was known to give servants gold pieces for just being on time and giving her what she wanted. Making food for her was like making it for a favoured distant relative, one with money and good humour.

As the servant entered the room, Ista pulled her robe tighter. The footsteps were heavy, obviously a males. The breathing pattern was unfamiliar, and yet not alarming, telling Ista it was not someone to harm her. The "bitch" would inform her if someone was bad, and no alarm bells were sounding in her head.

"Heyla," crooned the soft voice.

"Good evening, Theodren," Ista answered, putting a voice to the name. Ista could only imagine the price Theodren must have paid to deliver this meal. With people like Ista, Prince Ikan, or Merili, the kitchen's staff was fanatical about making sure the meal was to the person's liking. Theodren must have offered something they could not get otherwise.

"I've brought your meal," he said earnestly, "And my company, if you'll have me."

"I'm feeling better," Ista drawled, "And I would like the company. I believe your Heath is wining and dining my Genyi. So I'm all alone this evening."

"Well then," replied Theodren, "I'll stay as long as you want."

"Rabbit dumplings?" asked Ista, walking over to the small table in the corner of the room and sitting down.

"Indeed. With a fresh greens salad. I watched them take it from the royal gardens myself." Theodren set the plate down in front of Ista, the placed his own right next to hers before taking a seat.

"You spent all day in there." Ista dug into her food, spearing a rabbit dumpling onto her fork with great vigor. "I know you must have. The staff doesn't like giving up duties they like, and I'm one of them."

"Really? Some of your students told me you're the battle-axe to end all battle-axes. Did you really whip that one boy?"
"Yes. He had it coming. But oh, wait." Ista took another dumpling and almost swallowed it whole, "You mean whip whipped? No. I took him to the training room and we had ourselves a little fight. Did anyone tell you he was fifteen and I was eighteen? And a small eighteen? He had every advantage except a brain. Which is why he's now working as a spit turner."

"He was that dumb?"

"No. Not at the time. He later on picked a fight with the wrong person and ended up getting his brain addled by some bully boy."

"Sounds like the average highborn from Valdemar. They often have grandiose ideas of who they are in the grand scheme of things. And they're not as important as they think."

"It's the same here."
"Want to hear a story?"

"Certainly."


"So then Johan had to run from the room, yellow dye all over his white pants. And because he'd slighted the help, he had to run from one end of the palace to the other looking like he'd wet himself!"

"Oh lord," laughed Theodren. Hours had passed, and still Ista and Theodren sat together in the darkened room. Ista didn't realise there was no light left, and Theodren did not want to move from his seat.

"I know. Johan was mortified. He never wanted to be seen in public again."

"Who is he to you anyways," Theodren asked, trying to sound dispassionate.

"Johan is one of my oldest friends. We've been friends almost since I arrived here. We fight and bicker, but it's always worked out in the end."

"Just wondering. Your students seem to think you're bedding."

"No," barked Ista, suddenly realising she sounded desperate with the last phrase.

"Can I ask you something."

"Sure."

"How did you do that."

"Do what?"
"With the sword. I'm a quiet fighter. I doubt your hearing is that acute."

"Foresight," answered Ista. "The most obvious answer."

"Foresight doesn't work like that," snapped Theodren. "It's never precise."

"And white horses never talk," snarled Ista, slightly upset at the implication that she was being less than true, "Foresight has never worked like that for you, or anyone in your history. But you should know that strong gifts do occur. Look at Lavan Firestorm, or Vanyel, or even the current Herald Kyril. Strong gifts, all of them. Unusually strong."

"I'm sorry," stuttered Theodren, realising that he'd just insulted the woman he'd spent all evening enthralled by. He was on the verge of kicking himself. He sounded no better than a tactless noble brat. And for some reason he didn't understand, this upset him more than it should.

"It's okay," Ista answered, "I don't talk about my gifts much. But Merili said I'll be going with you, so I assume you'll have to know, if not the other two."

"You can really see things? Like clearly and not randomly?"
"It's reliable. I know that in a few moments, you're going to turn on a light. And not just any one, but the one on the bedside table, because you don't want it to be too bright."

"That sounds like deductive reasoning."

"I can also tell you that Genyi is going to spill her dinner all over Heath. Ask him when you get back."

"You just know this?"

"Sometimes. Other times I have to focus. Like during the fight. And then there are the times I don't want to know, and I fight to not know."

"What would you not want to know?"

"A lot. I…" she hesitated. "I like my life. I wouldn't want to know every little detail before it happens. I like that I can help prevent disasters, but some of them are unavoidable."

"You can't change it, only see it."

"And I think that my gift is part of the destiny of the world. I'm not changing anything by speaking. What I know, I'm meant to know. A few weeks ago, a Bard died. He was old. And I knew his time was ending. I made sure everyone said their goodbyes, and everyone had closure. And it made all the difference in the world."

"You're really nothing like the students describe you, you know."

"I'm aware." She answered, dismissing the comment with a flick of her hand. "Most of the students are highborn. I don't like the highborns here. As far as I'm concerned, they can all go back to Mornedelth and stay there."

"You and me, we're common stock. Common Karsite mutts."

"Speak for yourself," Ista giggled, "I'm practically a noble here. And when Meric takes the throne, I will be."

"They're going to ennoble you?"
"They have to. Merili wants me on the council of the King. And no commoners allowed."

"Sounds like fun?"

"I would give my life for this country. Jkatha has given me everything."

"You lived in Valdemar, didn't you?
"For almost five years."

"I'm truly surprised that the Bardic Collegium didn't snap you right up."

"They sent someone for me," Ista half-whispered, "But I didn't want to go. I really didn't want to go. So I broke her wrist."

"Why were you so mad?" asked Theodren.

"I just…was," sputtered Ista. She felt like a bolt had just struck her in the head. She realised now that she had just been sharing with this man for hours. She'd answered what he'd asked, like he was an old friend. And then she realised he was likely just doing it for information.

"Are you okay?"
"The headache," Ista lied. "The headache is back."

"You want some tea?"

"No. I just need to be quiet."

"Do you want me to sta…" Theodren stopped, realising that Ista was lying to him. Something had made her close up, and him asking to stay would only make matters worse. He got up, and stared at her for a moment, but a moment that felt like eternity.

She was twenty-three, that much he knew. It felt almost wrong for him, a man of thirty-eight, to feel anything but paternal feelings for this girl. But his feelings were not paternal, and Theodren felt no guilt.

Theodren reached out his hand, watching it tremble, and pushed Ista's hair out of her face. She looked up at him, and for an instant, he swore she could actually see him. Her eyes, a deep brown, almost black colour, stared right at him. He knew she couldn't actually see him, but her gaze almost took his breath away. It was a gaze full of beauty, as if true beauty was not in the eye of the beholder, but within the unseeing eyes of a Jkathan Bard.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," Ista said quietly, never moving her gaze from Theodren.

"Yeah," he stuttered as he managed to pull himself away from the Bard and move towards the door. "Goodnight, my lady."

"Good night," Ista answered softly as Theodren shut the door. Ista walked over to her bed and pulled back the covers. She slipped into the soft sheets, and then let her robe fall to the floor. She reached over to the bedside table and took the sleeping potion the Healers left. She didn't want to think, because it would only make her think of Theodren. And Ista had no time for men.

"Or at least," Ista thought as she downed the potion and slipped into sweet oblivion, "I keep telling myself I have no time."


Theodren dragged himself back to his suite, arguing with himself. Ista was a problem. Never have feelings for anyone in an important diplomatic situation, which was what Kyril had taught him, they're more dangerous than snakes. Those who hold your heart can ultimately stop it from beating.

And then there was the situation with Arielle, his wife of almost twenty-one years. She was a priestess of the Lord of the Light. They had met when he was sixteen, and she fourteen. They swore they were life-bonded. They had been madly in love.

And when, at sixteen, Arielle had become pregnant, Theodren had done the only thing he could. He married her. They had a daughter, named Luella, and then three sons, Olivet, Timor and Heath. It seemed, on the outside, to be perfect.

What no one else knew, outside the Heraldic circle, was how miserable Arielle made Theodren. It was wonderful when they were just children themselves, but raising four children had taken its toll on the marriage. Theodren had wanted to dissolve the union for years, but Arielle was intent on keeping up the façade. She wanted to seem like she had the marriage that everyone could look up to. No one else knew that Theodren hadn't touched his wife in years and that Arielle threw things at him and screamed.

It had been bad judgment on Theodren's part, marrying Arielle. But Theodren was not known for his good judgment in social situations, even with his companion. Theodren tended to assume his companion didn't understand the dynamics of human social lives. Put a map in front of him, and Theodren could give you all sorts of sound strategic advice, but put him in front of a pretty girl, and things went south.

Everyone in Haven knew about his marriage to Arielle, who was now the high priestess of the Lord of the Light's temple in Haven. It made it impossible for Theodren to seek extra company. But he wasn't in Haven anymore. He was in a strange land, and there was an exotic woman upstairs who made him feel alive for the first time in years.

Theodren paused for a moment to adjust his uniform before entering the suite that he shared with Heath and Tyga. Tyga had one room and Theodren the second room with Heath. He opened the door and walked in, trying to look as unruffled as he could.

"Where have you been?" demanded Heath, mockingly. Heath, the youngest son of Theodren and Arielle, was a dapper young man. He had just got his Whites and finished his internship when Queen Selenay sent him with his father on this mission. His optimism was still intact, unlike Tyga.

"That was a long dinner," drawled Tyga. Tyga was a rather jaded Herald. She came from the dredges of society, from the poorest of the poor. She seemed to have a permanent chip on her shoulder when dealing with 'the upper crust'. Theodren had never told her about his life in the Tedrel camps, but could understand why she was so cold. Anyone forced into a situation where there was no hope, and was then allowed to see the opulence that others live in was bound to become cold.

"I was talking with our Bard," answered Theodren, "Found out a lot. She's not as she appears."

"Really? How different?"

"She's a foreseer. A strong one. She's going to be dead useful to us."

"If she goes," said Heath.

"If?" demanded Theodren.

"Yeah," replied Heath, "We got assigned our person. Some noble named Eryth. The king said that he doesn't want to allow Ista to leave the city. He said that she's too important. Genyi told me that the King will never allow Ista to leave. She's a prisoner here. I made a joke about it. That's when she got up and dumped her dinner all over me" Heath pointed to the uniform hanging on the wall, drying.

"We need her," scoffed Theodren, "I don't think anyone else could do it."

:Do you need her: asked Cheric, Theodren's companion. :Or do you WANT her, chosen:

"Take it up with the King," snapped Tyga.

"Oh. I will," growled Theodren.