The sun lingered just above the horizon, a fading, fiery ball about to pass under the rim of the world. Mardans led Liandra through the palace’s north garden, where the trees were turning red, orange, and yellow, toward the Akan Ganda, once again the Prophetess’ preferred meeting place. Her daughter, Nuha Tamim, greeted them at the gate as before, pleased to meet the young Satelen lady-in-waiting, eyes shining at the couple’s obvious delight in each other’s company.
Before taking them to see her mother, the Wise Woman briefly related to Liandra the myth of Akan Ganda from the traditional viewpoint of Leitani Azuri worshipers. “But we who follow the Creator know the truth behind the myth,” she said. “Akan Ganda was a piece of rock that fell from the heavens, causing great ruin. The survivors of the catastrophe brought it up here from the plain below as an altar and dedicated it to Azuri’s bloody cult. If it had landed here, it would have obliterated this whole hill.”
“So, this was the high place of their religion,” Liandra said, eyes wide, “where they sacrificed to Azuri. In my country, many still worship the great sea and wear little vials of seawater on shell necklaces.”
Tamim nodded gravely. “Yes, I have read of that practice, and for most, such casual idolatry is a mere affectation of piety or superstition. My ancestors worshiped shamefully here at Akan Ganda, and even in the youth of the blessed Margonne the Strong, Azuri’s devotees made abominable sacrifices in this place. Our first king put an end to that practice. In many ways, it was the reason for his conquest of Leitan.”
“I was not aware,” Liandra said, embarrassed. “I’m afraid I know little about Leitan.”
“There is little worth knowing,” Tamim said flatly. She turned, saying over her shoulder, “We should not keep the Prophetess waiting any longer.”
Liandra exchanged a glance with Mardans, and he gave her a small smile and a shrug. They followed Tamim to the little house’s door, and opening it, the Leitani woman announced them to her mother. As before, the Prophetess stood in the room’s center. Behind her, four leather chairs faced the fireplace in which a small fire crackled. Smiling, she walked forward, greeting them with kind words. She took Liandra’s hands into her own, and as soon as their fingers touched, the older Wise Woman’s step faltered, and her eyes rolled.
Fearing the Prophetess would fall, Mardans rushed forward and caught her before she could crumple to the floor. Gasping, Liandra kept hold of her hands, and Tamim, with a cry of “Mother!” came around her, placing her hand on her mother’s forehead and feeling her neck for a pulse. She immediately relaxed, letting out a long-held breath.
“Let’s take her over to her chair,” she said. Mardans scooped the limp Prophetess into his arms and carried her gently to her place before the fire. “Thank you, Mardans,” Tamim said. She brought over a stool and a plump pillow and set her mother’s feet on them. “I should explain. Her body often reacts like this when she receives a vision, and it gets more frequent as she ages. She simply faints from the power of the vision. She’ll come around in a few minutes, I’m sure.”
Tamim poured a glass of water to give her mother when she woke, and she had just set the pitcher down when the Prophetess stirred. Before she opened her eyes, a joyous smile creased her face. She looked first at Liandra and laughed in happiness, a tear of joy rolling down one cheek.
“What is it, Mother?” Tamim asked, thrusting the glass into the Prophetess’ hand. “Drink this, and then tell us what you saw.”
The Prophetess complied readily. She handed the half-drunk glass back to her daughter and smiled again. “Lady Marini,” she began, “you bring me such joy!” More tears fell from her eyes, though she was beaming at them. “I have been waiting all my life for a sign, and you have brought it to me today!”
Kneeling in front of her, Liandra glanced at Mardans, unsure what to say, but he was no help. Finally, she said, “I am overjoyed to see you so happy, but I don’t know what I’ve done to make you so.”
The Prophetess patted her hand. “You haven’t done anything—yet.” She winked at her. “Pardon an old woman’s frankness, my dear, but I have foreseen that you will have a son. The vision revealed that he will see the white-haired Young Mother, and in her days, a new age will arise when power will flow to the weak and oppressed, and evil will be vanquished.”
Liandra gasped. “A son? I will have a son?” She looked wide-eyed at Mardans.
He smiled and shrugged. “The Prophetess has seen it, and I’ve never heard of a Prophetess’ visions being false,” he said. “You can trust them.”
“The visions are true,” the Prophetess agreed, nodding her head vigorously. “It’s the interpretations one must question.” She found her water glass and took another sip. “I know two things for sure: You will have a son, and he will see the white-haired Young Mother. I do not know when except that she will appear within a man’s lifetime. My family has awaited her coming for six generations. That gives me hope and joy!”
She shooed them to seats and reminded Tamim to serve refreshments, seeming to have recovered all her strength and wits in a moment. Taking her feet off the pillow, she sat up, watching her daughter serve their guests. “Do you think, my dear Tamim, that you will be the one to fulfill our family’s task?”
“I cannot know, Mother,” Tamim answered. “Lady Marini is young, and she may bear her son many years from now. Who can say how long I will live? Or her son may live eighty years and see the Young Mother in his final days. I would surely be gone long before then. My daughter or granddaughter would have the honor. This vision changes little, I think. It just gives us the incentive to stay our course.”
The Prophetess smiled with pride. “She will make an excellent Prophetess when the time comes,” she said to Liandra, now sitting to her left. “Already, she is wiser than I and much more collected and sensible.”
“Oh, Mother!” her daughter exclaimed. Her cheeks flushed as she ducked her head.
“Did I say ‘sensible’?” the Prophetess asked, a gleam in her eye. “I meant ‘sensitive.’” She chuckled. “She thinks I tease her, but a mother feels proud when her daughter surpasses her in this or that way. Tamim, my dear, I am serious. You will be a greater Prophetess than I.”
“Mother—”
“And make sure you remain friends with Lady Marini and her son after she brings him into the world,” the Prophetess continued over her protestations. “You must prepare him to recognize the Young Mother so that you or your daughter or granddaughter can fulfill our mission.”
“Yes, Mother,” Tamim said with a bow of her head. “You know I will.”
“Good!” The Prophetess smiled. She turned to Mardans, who sat next to Liandra. “I know this isn’t just a social call for you, son of Lorens. I don’t have to be a seer to know you need to find the murderer of that poor girl, right?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do,” he said, returning his cup and saucer to the table at their knees. “Honestly, I am still trying to figure out my gift. I don’t think I’m using it right.” He shrugged. “I barely understand it. I have been trying to approach it rationally, thinking through each bit of information we receive, hoping my gift would point me in the right direction. But nothing from my investigation into Formosis has triggered any feeling of certainty like I felt when Dinae was kidnapped. It has been frustrating.”
The Prophetess nodded, contemplating his words and her response for a long while. Finally, she said, “As I told you last time, since I don’t have your gift, I have no experience with how it works. Our books are useless on this point. But I can tell you something general that may help—a principle known and trusted among our kind.
“It came to mind when you said you were approaching your problem rationally. That is commendable, but it is not the whole. We humans are not just minds, are we? No, of course not. We are minds and hearts and guts and flesh and spirit.” With each word, she touched a corresponding part of her body, swinging her hands up and wide when she said “spirit.”
“By these, I mean we have more than thoughts but also feelings and intuitions and desires and inspirations. When your friend was taken, you poured yourself into finding her—not just your brain, but your heart and all those other things. Your gift reacted to your all-consuming quest to find her. Perhaps, then, you need to engage those other parts of yourself in searching for this evil man.”
Mardans frowned. “It’s true that I’ve considered this task as a battle of wits,” he said after a while, nodding in agreement. “Formosis’ intelligence versus my own, and I’ve felt myself over-matched.”
“And perhaps that notion of being inferior has worked against you,” Tamim interjected. “It undermined your confidence in yourself and your gift. It is important to accept that you have been chosen for this task and for this gift. If I may, I suggest you learn to believe, not that you have a gift for finding, but that you are a Finder.”
Liandra cleared her throat. “As a foreigner, I know little about these gifts,” she said in a small, shy voice, “but what you just said, Tamim, is something my family teaches its children. In Satele, the Marinis are often called upon to mediate disputes. For whatever reason, the mediator may not feel qualified to judge a specific case, but he is encouraged to remind himself that he is its chosen mediator. Both sides of the dispute have agreed to place it in his hands and abide by his decision. Despite his misgivings, he must be the mediator to the best of his abilities.”
“Thank you, ladies,” Mardans said, looking at each of them in turn. “You are all wise women, in my estimation. You have given me much to consider. And you are right! I have doubted myself. When a situation arises, I can confidently spring into action. But I tend to question my thinking and actions in the prolonged quiet times when there seems to be nothing more I can do.” He sighed, saying almost to himself, “So, how can I become more confident in my abilities as a Finder?”
The Prophetess looked at him with a kind smile. “Just remember your successes, son of Lorens. You’ve done it many times before—not just once or twice. And you can do it again.”
“You found Dinae,” Liandra added, “and just today, you found Margonne’s dagger! Don’t let the specter of Formosis you’ve created in your own mind cause you to doubt yourself. He is just a man—an evil man, but just a man.”
Mardans nodded, a determined light springing up in his eyes. “You are right. I can’t let him win! I will find Formosis!”
“Good!” the Prophetess said. “That is the confidence I wanted to see!” She appeared to be about to say more, but her eyes rolled back again, and her head lolled to one side. But after just a moment, before the others had time to react, she lifted her head and fixed a fierce gaze on Mardans’ eyes. “When you go to get him, don’t forget your whip.”
A note:
Despite being ethnically Leitani, Tamim appears to have little affection for Leitan. It was a common attitude among those of her religion because of their rejection of the Leitan tribal system that stifled all progress and kept all but the chiefs and their cronies in abject poverty and weakness. The final straw was Chief Chogan’s mad descent into demonic totalitarianism and human sacrifice, which they abhorred. They saw Margonne and his army as saviors from a hellish, brutal regime. Margonne’s reputation, in particular, skyrocketed with them when he sought to integrate the Leitani into his kingdom on equal terms with the Taurani. Because the Leitani at the time were so far behind the Taurani, it took a few generations to bring his aims to pass, but by the reign of Lorens II, the kingdom of Margonne enjoyed ethnic peace—mostly. Occasionally, Leitani youths agitated for “fairness” and greater representation in various places of power, but the movements tended to fizzle quickly.