Just a note, this story is something of an AU story, so I've taken liberties with timeline and I've gathered characters together that generally wouldn't have been around at the same time, like Tylendel and Stefen. I have reasons for this and they'll be revealed later in the story. Thanks!
In the dark, curtains drawn, class dismissed, candles doused, Scribere sat behind his desk, staring. Nothing moved around him, his own body still as death – it was Scribere's mind that was whirling and leaping frenetically; connections lighting then shifting; excuses and rationalizations chiseling desperately at his certainty. That certainty floated unshaken in the eye of the storm, denials and qualifications pelting about in a twisting cyclone, but none managing to touch the conclusion that stood at the centre of calm. Scribere knew what he had seen; there was no doubt.
He just wished there was.
He didn't know what to do, who to tell… how to prepare himself for what was to come, let alone the confused high-born slacker who was currently on the threshold of being thrust into an entirely different life, with or without his consent. In his experience, Scribere found this process usually barreled ahead without consent, and he had a notion that Ashkevron wouldn't take that well. Scribere felt a barely audible chuckle escape his paralysed lips at that and he shook his head: Ashkevron didn't take a fly landing on his desk well, this was going to push him over the edge. And Scribere would have to be the one to pull him back.
With that thought, Scribere shattered the oppressive stillness of the dark room by reaching down and tugging open a drawer built into his desk. Without hesitation, he pulled out a bottle, yanked out the cork and took a healthy swig. Now, at least, he had an excuse for drinking better than 'to escape memories of the past.' It had been a long time since he last drank to escape the present. He was uncertain whether it really constituted an improvement or not.
Steadily draining the bottle, Scribere tamed the raging of his thoughts and began to plan his next move. He would have to find the boy, bring him back here, explain his… but first he would have to make contact with those close to him, explain to them so they would be prepared. And so they could help him convince Ashkevron that what he told him was true – the eldest son of a nobleman who had rarely even heard Gifts mentioned in passing before he came to Haven might not immediately accept what Scribere had to tell him. And those close to him would need time to prepare themselves: if they cared about the boy in the least, this would be difficult for them too. Scribere had to tell – he had to tell everyone. This was an enormous development, it could have an effect on nigh on everything, from politics to war to daily life.
Elspeth – Elspeth, the Queen, had to be informed first and foremost. She would see the revelation diffused through the ranks to all who mattered, rumour taking care of everyone who didn't. This wasn't a situation that could be kept under wraps.
Scribere took a final draw from the bottle, shook it to be certain he'd gotten it all, and threw it to the ground. His eyes had never left the point he had been staring at for the last half candlemark – the spot where Ashkevron had stood and spoken words that were like a direct line feeding Scribere's past into the present. The spot where he had seen the fear in Ashkevron's eyes, and where he knew Ashkevron had seen the fear in his.
He rose heavily to his feet, no unsteadiness in his movements – he was no lightweight, and the drink had done more to steady him than unsteady him. Current events were already doing a grand job of unsteadying him, there was no room for alcohol to contribute its efforts.
As he left the room to gain audience with the upper echelons of the kingdom, Scribere thought regretfully of how it was always like this. The individual in question was always the absolute last to know.
Elspeth sat at the head of the table, refereeing the discussion between her advisors and nobles. Refereeing the argument, that is – she had been forced to stand and call the room to order twice already and they'd only been at it for a candlemark. At least she wasn't bored.
"Well, the agricultural output from the outer Holdings is lamentable! There are no two ways about it, and I don't think we need to mince words! I am not blaming anyone for the fact that we have a shortage, but we do and we need to deal with that before people start feeling it. We need – " Alius was cut off before he could actually get to his point, but everyone present knew what the point was anyway. Particularly the one who had interrupted it.
"I refuse to even consider such a rash course of action, Alius." Pecun put on his best pompous voice for this, Elspeth noted – he was really committed. "Given the state of upheaval in our relations with just about every land capable of sending us aid, do you really believe crawling to them on our hands and knees and charting out our weaknesses is the shrewdest plan? We cannot rely on any but ourselves in – "
"And this 'upheaval' you speak of, Pecun? Do you really think us all so uninformed that we would take your vague, blanket use of such a word as truth? Yes, there is unease, but in varying degrees, some lands leaning more towards us than others – there is war in the wind, therefore relations are strained, that's the way it works. But we have done nothing to turn our allies against us, nor have we done anything to provoke our enemies, it is all within the context of greater strife – therefore, this is the time to cement ties! Demonstrating some vulnerability and trust could be just the way to do that." Elspeth had always admired Nimis's ability to be both blunt and tactful at once in order to persuade others to his view, and she thought this a rather impressive example of the man's talent. He had managed to quiet the turmoil roiling through the room better than Elspeth herself, and all eyes were fixed on him, minds obviously considering his words. Elspeth took that as a good sign, even if it was inevitably temporary. The battle would recommence where it left off after this lull, she was sure – she just hoped Nimis had planted a lasting seed in their minds. He was her voice in this contest of advisors' advice, after all.
In the tense silence, Elspeth turned to her nephew, Randale. He was seated next to her, not expected to contribute but to observe – Elspeth was hoping to instill some political savvy in the boy and she thought a meeting of advisors was an appropriate starting point. She opened her mouth to quietly inquire what he thought of the proceedings, hoping for an answer that wouldn't make her cringe, only to discover Randale with his head balanced on one hand, drowsing. Elspeth released a sharp sigh and jostled him slightly, not wanting to draw the others' attention.
"Randale, Randi! Wake up, you fool!" Elspeth hissed the words through her teeth, keeping her voice low and unobtrusive. She didn't want to wake the advisors from their musings before they were ready, that might lead to disaster.
"Mm, what? What?" Randi stirred and blinked blearily at his aunt, catching the irritation in her eyes and hoping it wasn't all directed at him. Feeling a drop of drool slip down his chin, Randi had a sinking feeling most of it was probably directed at him. "I'm sorry, Elspeth. I just," Randi sighed and looked down at his hands, "I just don't really understand what's going on. I'm sort of – out of my element listening to this kind of thing." He almost winced at the weakness of his own excuse, but it was true: he had neither a knack for, nor an interest in, politics. Just one more reason I should never be allowed anywhere near the throne, he thought. And Randi was perfectly content with the idea of never getting within a mile of the throne: he had no desire whatever to be pinned with the crown. The very thought made his spine stiffen and his skin shudder. He was very far from being a leader.
Elspeth just looked at him and sighed, shoving his shoulder. Randi had come to recognise the gesture as a sign of affection. "I know, I know. Just try to pay attention, maybe you'll pick something up." There was a hopeful note in her voice that made Randi's heart cramp a little – she wanted him to show some aptitude for this and still held out hope that he would eventually, but Randi knew he would disappoint her. It was just a matter of when she realized just how deep his innate incompetence ran.
The Queen shifted her eyes to something beyond him and Randi felt a rush of relief at not being the subject of her scrutiny any longer. He twisted in his seat to see what had claimed her attention, and smiled when he followed her gaze to the Bardic student crouched in the corner, lanky limbs folded over his instrument. Stefen seemed to communicate with the Queen with his eyes alone, the green in them alight with comprehension, and he nodded subtly and picked up the pace of his plucking. He spared a second to grin at Randi encouragingly and wink before lowering his head and concentrating on the task at hand – calming the many passions of the advisors. Randi hoped he would be as effective as usual, otherwise they'd be sitting at this table until well into the night.
Elspeth and Randi both turned back to the table and each could almost feel the other's dismay at finding Pecun raising himself up, puffing out his chest and preparing to launch into a counterattack on Nimis's words. However, to the relief of everyone in the room – even Pecun himself – a guard clattered into the hall with a flash of the royal colours and the metallic tapping of his immense lance on the stone floor as he advanced. He executed a bow impressive in its grace given the man's uniform presenting him so many encumbrances, and looked to his Queen. Elspeth nodded for him to speak.
"I am sorry, Your Majesty, I realize your orders were that you were not to be disturbed until the conclusion of your session with the advisors, but Professor Scribere has been asking for an audience for quite a while now. He says his news is urgent and that he must speak with Your Majesty – when I told him you were occupied, he said he would just have to wait. He has been sitting in front of the door for at least half a candlemark…" The guard trailed off at his Queen's reaction to his words, the blood draining from her face and her eyes widening. Her older advisors, Nimis and Alius particularly, echoed her disturbance, exchanging glances. The guard shifted from foot to foot in his discomfort – he wasn't accustomed to seeing his Queen in such a state. Randi paled as well, but only in response to seeing Elspeth – the most fearless, brash person he had ever met – pale, and Stef stopped playing altogether, watching the proceedings nervously.
"You will show Professor Scribere in." Elspeth's voice sounded like it was wavering on the cusp of trembling, and Randi didn't think he had ever heard anything so terrifying in his life. The guard nodded stiffly and marched out, obviously confused and uneasy at having caused such a stir with what had seemed innocuous news. Randi blatantly stared at Elspeth, searching for some hint in her expression that would explain the tension that gripped the room like a hand around their communal throat; but Elspeth didn't seem to notice him, her eyes distant and worried – staring at the door – her lips pressed into a tight line. He was about to say something, put a hand on her shoulder, anything to break her out of this unnerving fixation on the doors before them, but a gentle, callused hand on his own shoulder brought him up short. Turning, he was met with wide green eyes and a shaking head.
"Don't. I have no idea what's going on right now, but I know what she's feeling," Stef glanced at Elspeth, something like wariness in his face, "and this is important. As in 'fate of the kingdom hanging in the balance' important – she won't appreciate distractions." Randi nodded up at his friend, trusting his ability to read the people around him. There was a reason Stef was here, playing for the Queen, instead of sitting through classes at Bardic all day long: he was the best.
The doors banged open and, as unceremoniously as it was possible to be, Scribere swept in, robes scruffy, hair wild. He stopped before the table and swept those present with his eyes, taking in their expressions. He lingered to lock gazes with Alius and Nimis before giving his full attention to his Queen. "Alright, judging by the stuffier than usual atmosphere in here and the looks on your faces, those that matter have already guessed my purpose for being before you." His philosophy teacher produced a bitter, humourless smile that Randi had never seen before. "But, in case you need further assurance, I'll tell you outright: I've found one. I have found a – a powerful one, perhaps more powerful than we have yet encountered." There was an odd mixture of triumph and defeat in his tone and Randi felt Stef shift behind him, picking up on something.
"Does he know?" Elspeth's voice was tight, controlled. Randi had no idea what she was feeling. Scribere smiled that twisting smile once again. "Not as such. I need to contact those closest to him before I track him down – "
"You let him out of your sight?" Elspeth shot to her feet and Randi scrambled to follow suite. "He could be anywhere, doing anything! What if someone were to discover…" Elspeth didn't finish her sentence, just stared intensely into Scribere's eyes, anxiety plain on her face now. Scribere approached and put a soothing hand on her shoulder, an action that shocked Randi more than anything else that had happened.
"Look, he was… he needed space. I let him leave class early, let him go do something with himself. Nothing is going to happen to him. But we need to get him now, and we'll need the help of people he trusts." Scribere's tone was calm, but the tension and the anxiety lurked in the undercurrents of his voice, inescapable.
'He's a student? A child?" Elspeth's voice was a whisper, a whisper unrecognisable as her own by its regret and pity.
"This is when it usually manifests, Elspeth. You know that." Despite his words, Scribere sounded resigned and sad, as if the pair of them were discussing a child being taken to the gallows for a petty crime. Randi watched as Elspeth visibly gathered her forces and nodded.
"Who is it? We need to start looking for the family." Nimis's hoarse voice made Randi jump, prompting a soft snicker from behind him. That Stef could so easily keep his calm in moments like this never ceased to amaze him.
Scribere gave the room another once-over before his eyes, much to their joint horror, settled on Randi and Stef. "His name is Vanyel Ashkevron."
Tylendel nodded absently as Savil's voice droned in his ears, his eyes fixed on Donni, who had her eyes fixed on Savil. She knew something, she knew that there was something wrong with Vanyel, and he desperately needed to talk to her about it. He just had to get through the rest of this lesson and he would be free to stop pretending to think about things other than Vanyel. The section of his mind that was Vanyel had been twinging oddly all day, exuding fear and confusion, and Tylendel was on the verge on fidgeting out of his seat in his attempt to keep himself from leaping up and rushing to find Van and sort out whatever this was. Find out whatever was making Vanyel feel this way and eliminate it, make sure it never –
The droning had stopped. Tylendel looked up and was met with the full force of Savil's grey stare, Mardic and Donni looking on quietly. Tylendel gave her a smile, but received a raised eyebrow in response. He wasn't getting out of this so easily.
"So, Lendel, what has you so occupied that you cannot bring yourself to even pretend to listen to what I'm saying?" Savil didn't even need to ask that question out loud – though she did out of courtesy – the eyebrow said it all. Only Savil could communicate whole sentences by eyebrow alone; Tylendel thought the things marvels in themselves, really…
"Why do I even bother asking?" Savil threw her hands in the air and started pacing. "It's Vanyel, isn't it? It's always Vanyel. 'Oh, Savil, I didn't do my reading because Vanyel was having a crisis with his wardrobe and I had to help,'" Tylendel thought Savil's imitation of him to be a smidgeon unjust, but he wasn't given much of a chance to object as she continued. "'Oh, I'm sorry, Savil, but I missed class because Vanyel and I had a fight and I couldn't just leave him like that.' And now, even without his being here or you being with him, he's still managing to distract you! Sometimes, that nephew of mine…" Savil's sentence ended in a string of indecipherable mutterings, not unfamiliar to Tylendel, as Van's rants about Savil usually ended in the same mutterings. He had to wonder whether they had any idea how similar they were.
"Savil," Donni's steady voice cut through whatever plans Savil was concocting against Van under her breath. "I don't think Lendel's concern is misplaced." Savil just stared as she tried to process the quiet certainty in Donni's voice.
"Wait, let me get this straight, you actually think there's something wrong?" Savil looked at the three of them, nodding their heads solemnly, as if they had all gone stark raving mad. "Wait, this is Vanyel we're talking about, right? My nephew, the preening high-born peacock? He isn't capable of having real problems!" Savil spluttered her disbelief, shaking her head and chuckling. Her chuckling died as she took in her students' expressions. She sat down and took a breath. "Alright, what exactly gives you this impression?"
"He woke up far earlier than normal, which is not exactly a regular occurrence for Van," Donni's mouth quirked into a small smile. "I didn't think much of it at the time. He told me he had a headache, one that had woken him and prevented him from returning to sleep. When he said it was making it difficult for him concentrate, I gave him some medicine and it seemed to help. We talked, but there was something odd about it." Donni's brow creased as she struggled to describe it. "It wasn't what he said, but the way he spoke. Like he was just going through the motions, saying what he knew I'd expect to keep me from looking further into his state of mind. Everything he said was hollow, as if there was nothing behind it – as if there was something else that had captured all of his attention, something he desperately didn't want me to discover." As Donni spoke, Mardic nodded, supporting her assessment. Tylendel swallowed convulsively: Donni hadn't gone into that much detail earlier. His worry increased twofold.
"I, uh, I've been feeling Van's worry all day." Tylendel's voice was hoarse, and hearing his read on Van's emotions aloud only caused his anxiety to continue skyrocketing. "He's afraid. I can't seem to figure out why but… but it feels like he doesn't quite know what he's afraid of either. It's as if he's afraid of…" Tylendel searched the feeling, trying to attach words to it. "It's as if he's afraid of himself."
All was quiet as they considered that. Savil looked as if she was about to say something when the door to the Work Room burst open and a crush of bodies poured in. Foremost and least ruffled of them was the Queen, and the fear in her face turned Tylendel's blood to ice even as he jumped up to pay the proper obeisance. She waved that away and seemed to look to someone behind her for guidance. Tylendel glimpsed the reedy form of the Queen's top advisor, Nimis, behind her, but he wasn't the one she was appealing to. Tylendel blinked in surprise as he realized it was Scribere, his old philosophy teacher, resplendent in wrinkled robes and twisted, drink-stained lips, that the Queen gazed at helplessly. Randale, the Queen's nephew, and Stefen, the unofficial Queen's Bard, scrambled out from behind the adults and looked almost apologetically at Tylendel. He stared back at his friends questioningly.
"I apologize for the interruption, Savil, but I was informed by these fine young men," Scribere was incapable of uttering a compliment without it dripping with sarcasm, "that you, being Ashkevron's aunt, and this young man, Tylendel, are the closest people to Ashkevron in Haven at this time. Is this true?" There was an unsettling urgency to the question and Tylendel found himself nodding before Savil had recovered.
"Yeah, that's true. I'm his lifebonded, Savil's his guardian, Mardic and Donni are good friends of his. We all live together, so we're all pretty close… Why?" He couldn't stop himself from asking, though he was almost entirely certain he wouldn't get an answer.
Scribere fixed him with an avid glance. "You're his lifebonded?" Tylendel swallowed and nodded slowly. Scribere's face softened slightly. "Then you know there's something… happening to him." Tylendel nodded again, but before he could speak, a sharp intake of breath from Savil cut him off. He turned to see her staring wildly at Scribere, shaking her head.
"He – but – it's not possible! I checked! Whatever power he has is strictly latent!" Savil's voice was rising to a pitch Tylendel hadn't known her capable of reaching. Scribere just looked at her.
"It isn't latent anymore." Scribere's words had a ringing finality to them that made Tylendel's heart clench. "We need to find him. Now. And I'll need your help when we do."
Tylendel's mind was racing. He searched his mind for anything, any connection, any hypothesis that made sense. Savil and Scribere had suggested that Vanyel had manifested Gifts – and, yes, that was shocking and surprising, but not frightening, not like this. Scribere seemed to be saying that Vanyel was going to be in bad shape, that they needed to find him and they needed people he trusted to help calm him down. But what kind of Gifts… What was Scribere doing here anyway? He had nothing to do with the Heralds, nothing to do with Herald-Mages, nothing to do with anything other than philosophy and drink…
But that wasn't quite true, was it? Tylendel cast his mind back to the days when he had been in Scribere's class, when he had been so impressed by the man's unit on the philosophy of the future and his grasp of its complexities that he had decided to do extra research, looking through all the books in Savil's library about the future. He had found Scribere's name mentioned; he had found it mentioned in more than one book. The man had been a different kind of teacher, years and years ago, before Tylendel was born. He hadn't taught philosophy, he had taught in a Work Room just like Savil's, teaching an elite group of students gifted with a dying Gift… a Gift that was only an echo in the great epics of the bards these days, a Gift that dwarfed all others.
It was the Gift of the Future. Not the ForeSight of the Heralds – no, ForeSight was child's play compared to this power.
The Gift of Prophecy.
But Prophecy was extinct. No one had been born with it for years, no one expected it to ever manifest again, it was a historical curiosity, not a –
"It's back, lad," Scribere was standing right in front of him. "It's back and he has it. I'm going to need your help to get him before somebody else does, or before he gets himself." Tylendel nodded at the gruff voice and followed as they all shuffled from the Work Room.
A thought needled the back of Tylendel's consciousness, worming beneath all of the worry and all of the anxiety. In all the reading he had done, fascinated by this ancient Gift of Prophecy, Tylendel had read two things over and over in every tome he unearthed.
First, Prophecy was extremely powerful and a person gifted with it was capable of attaining godlike status among those without it.
Second, Prophecy was so powerful that it eventually destroyed the one gifted with it, consuming them from the inside out.