Prophecy
The sandstorm raged over the settlement, the wind howling like a ravenous savage beast. There would be no night fires lit outside that night; as the sand would scour the very skin off the flesh of any who would dare to venture outside. But within the tent, though it rattled from the raging winds from time to time, all was warm and peaceful. Reclining on a pile of cushions, snug in a blanket of cotton, was an ancient man. His hair was white, his brown face wrinkled and gnarly as a tree stump. But his dark eyes were sharp as he gazed upon the man seated on the floor before him.
The man had the startling beauty of youth. His hair fell to his shoulders in a brown curly tumble. His face was unblemished, perfect in every aspect. His eyes were a clear brown, but the deep haunted sorrow within them belied his youthful appearance.
The old man smiled. "You haven't aged at all in the last forty years, Hayreddin."
"I suppose I am well-blessed, honoured chieftain," answered the younger man, his full lips curving into a smile.
The old man chuckled. "I think we've known each other long enough to dispense with the formalities. We are alone after all, there's no need to stand on ceremony."
"Some habits die hard, Chieftain Kazanah," replied Hayreddin.
"Suit yourself," answered Kazanah before he was wracked by a wave of coughing. Hayreddin rose and poured the old man a cup of water.
"It's a hard thing, growing old," rasped the chieftain once the coughs subsided, taking a sip from the water. "Things you used to do without a thought becomes hard, your appetite wanes, the bones ache and the strength fades. And the weariness...always there, eating away at you; it weighs down on you until living becomes a chore."
"There are benefits though," answered Hayreddin, smiling. "Wisdom, for one."
"Wisdom, eh?" cackled Kazanah. "I'd trade all my wisdom to be able to ride a horse again. Or better yet, a woman. Maybe three."
The old chieftain laughed again. He subsided after a moment, staring at Hayreddin intently.
"But it's true though; you haven't aged at all," said Kazanah. "You look the same as you did back when we first met. Sometimes I wonder if you are truly human at all."
Hayreddin opened his mouth to speak, but Kazanah raised a hand to silence him. "Please, I meant no disrespect. I know you've heard the whispers. Some say you are a daemon, others say you are blessed by the spirits. Some even say you are the embodiment of the spirits! Can you believe that?"
"And what do you think?" asked Hayreddin.
Kazanah smiled. "I think you are something else entirely. Have you ever heard of the Sky People Prophecy?"
Hayreddin shook his head. Kazanah closed his eyes and recited from memory.
And the speakers have foretold,
On burning wings of gilded gold,
The immortal king shall come to claim his own,
His dominion stretched across worlds unknown.
Twenty sons will march at his side,
Warriors, priest, scholar and scribe,
They carry forth his fire and light,
To fight for Mankind's birthright.
At crossroads lie the fate of Man,
Eternal light or darkness without end,
The reckoning comes for the King in gold,
A beacon of hope or a corpse on a throne of gold.
A pause followed. Outside, the winds raged on.
"Not very good, is it?" said Hayreddin, smiling.
Kazanah snorted with laughter. "One of our speakers thought it would be more poetic to put the prophecy to verse. The man was terrible at it."
The old chieftain sobered. "But he was a better spirit-speaker than a poet, and the prophecy has been passed on from speaker to speaker, and to every chieftain of this tribe. Though some idiots have tried to put it to song, the core of it remains unchanged."
Hayreddin shifted ever so slightly.
"The immortal king comes."
Silence followed Kazanah's statement. In Hayreddin's mind, he saw the Golden King blazing with his light, driving back the daemons.
"You believe this prophecy?" asked Hayreddin.
"I don't put much stock in such things. But sometimes, these things have a kernel of truth. There have been signs; I've kept my eyes open for them. Let me show you."
The old chieftain tried to rise but Hayreddin stopped him, seeing how much the effort taxed him. "Tell me where to look."
Kazanah settled back into his seat with a sigh. "I hate growing old. There, in the chest." He pointed to a huge chest in the corner of the tent.
Hayreddin expected to find some priceless artifact; a statue perhaps, scrolls or books. Instead, he found a bundle of cloth rolled up within. It was heavy, but he lifted it out effortlessly. Kazanah instructed him to unroll it on the floor. As he did so, the bundle of cloth gradually revealed itself to be a tapestry, one of immense size and most intricately detailed.
At its center, dominating the scene, was the Golden King from Hayreddin's dreams. He held his flaming sword aloft; his face was shadowed, but his eyes blazed like twin suns. There was a swirl of stars in his other hand. Around him, like the spokes of a wheel, were twenty smaller murals.
The demigods.
The renditions were different, but Hayreddin recognised them all the same. He had even given names to some of them.
The Perfect Warrior.
The Cowled Reaper.
The Gladiator.
The Warrior-Priest.
But there were others that needed no names of his invention. These figures perfectly described themselves, no matter how differently they may have been depicted in drawing.
The Angel.
The Raven.
The Storm Rider.
Hayreddin's eyes paused on the Storm Rider. A mighty warrior upon a great eagle, soaring beneath a stormy sky. He could hear the words the spirits had whispered to him so long ago.
"Seek he who is born of the Storm…"
But where was this mysterious warrior?
"Look at the one near the bottom," said Kazanah.
Hayreddin saw it; the image of a young man standing astride the prow of a ship. He had brown hair and wore robes the colour of sand. The image looked oddly like…
"It looks like you, doesn't it?" said Kazanah.
"Coincidence, I'm sure," answered Hayreddin.
"Perhaps," admitted the old chieftain. "But I don't think so. You see, there's more to the prophecy; parts our useless poets failed to put into song. Parts relating to Baybar."
"It is said that one of the Immortal King's sons will come to Baybar. The Mariner, that's what the speakers call him. He will bring about great change to Baybar. He would herald an era of peace and prosperity before the King arrives."
Kazanah gazed at Hayreddin, his old eyes as bright as they were forty years ago. "Think of everything you've achieved. Tell me, Hayreddin, does that not sound like you?"
Silence fell in the tent. The winds howled outside.
Kazanah spoke again, his voice quiet but filled with fervour. "You changed the old ways. You brought peace to the warring desert tribes, you ended piracy, and you brought about change, peace and prosperity to this whole world that is unheard of. You've sailed to just about every corner of Baybar so that makes you a mariner."
Kazanah paused. "And I know the story of your arrival."
Hayreddin looked up sharply. "What?"
"You came from the sky, descending in fire," answered Kazanah. "The perfect child, adopted by a merchant and his wife. Such stories have a way of spreading. Even if you have largely remained quiet about your origins, there are still elders in Nuba who remember it. Do you know what that tells me?"
Silence.
"It tells me that you are not of this world. You came from somewhere else...another world maybe. This...Immortal King may have been the one to send you. It explains so much about you; you do not age, you are stronger than any ordinary person, and you have...charisma, something that draws people to you. Something unearthly."
"Hayreddin, you are not human."
Beduin's hated voice whispered in the back of Hayreddin's mind.
"Elder Beduin always said I was a demon," he said softly.
"I don't believe that for a moment," said Kazanah sternly. "I said you are not human, I didn't say you were a daemon. I just mean…you are beyond human. Far beyond all of us. But for all that, you love Baybar, you love your people. Hayreddin, a key point in the prophecy is that when the Immortal King comes to claim you, your actions thereafter will either bring unimaginable prosperity to Baybar...or doom it."
The old chieftain reached out and took Hayreddin's hands in his own, wrinkled ones. "I know now that Baybar could not be in better hands. I can die peacefully, knowing that you will be here to care for the fate of this world. For all of us."
Kazanah had looked into Hayreddin's eyes, full of peace and faith. Hayreddin could not bear it. He turned away…
...and woke.
The sky outside was still dark, though Hayreddin knew that sunrise was not far off. He had fallen asleep at his desk, papers he had been reading were still scattered across it.
The dream he just had had been more memory than a figment of the sleeping mind. It had been a memory of the last time he had seen Kazanah. The old chieftain had died not long after; passing away peacefully in his sleep. The spirit-speakers privy to the so-called prophecy had also died under more curious circumstances. It was for the best, thought Hayreddin, the fewer people who knew the better.
The memory of Kazanah's passing turned his thoughts back to a more recent one. One which still caused Hayreddin fresh pain.
Isan had been granted a state funeral, Hayreddin had ensured that. Her body had been carried in procession throughout Nuba before being entombed in the mastaba that he had built for his parents outside the city. She had been laid in a sarcophagus beside Ravenna's.
Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Hayreddin had not publicly attended the funeral, but had instead followed it from the rooftops of the city before privately paying his respects in the dead of night. He had mysteriously vanished afterwards; not even Isan's family could find him. As they always did, the people whispered. They whispered that his work was done, so he had departed Baybar. They whispered that the spirits had reclaimed him. They even whispered that he had died.
The truth of his disappearance was far more mundane. Hayreddin had built a secret annex above his quarters, and had cloistered himself within it since the funeral. He heard Revan calling for him from time to time, making him feel guilty, but he was not ready to face anyone just yet. He need time away to sort out his feelings and gather his thoughts.
But the annex was not just a hiding spot for him.
In the years that followed his encounter with the spirits, Hayreddin had built up a secret intelligence network to gather any information that may be related to the task the spirits had set him. He had other intelligence networks of course, to inform him of the happenings across Baybar, they were Ravenna's legacy to him, but this he had built specifically for the task the spirits had bestowed upon him. His agents were spread through all of Baybar, regularly updating him on relevant events.
In private, he called his agents the Sand Ravens, after the rare bird of Baybar, renowned for its intelligence and ability to blend into the desert.
From all over Baybar, his agents send word to him via raven of any unusual occurrence that may pertain to the Golden King.
It was from his secret annex that Hayreddin coordinated their efforts.
He glanced down at the note he had been reading when he fell asleep.
"The stargazers report sightings of a new star," he read aloud. "It slowly grows brighter every day and appears to be changing position." He cast the note aside irritably. "This is news?"
Hayreddin stood and went to the little window. A faint golden line had appeared on the horizon. He saw the star in question, but dismissed it.
Instead, he fell back into memories of the past.