The Jester: Unexpected Help (2)
Episode 27: "The Prophetess"
Emerging from a ground-floor door on the palace’s north end, the three sons of Lorens II trotted through a small garden as a cool rain grew in intensity over Palisade. The iron fence Margonne had erected across the northern point of the plateau still stood, although, after about one hundred and fifty years, it was showing its age. The covered gateway at its center stood open, and they hurried to it to get out of the rain.
They were surprised to find a young Leitani woman, near their own age, waiting for them. She wore traditional garb: a soft doeskin dress adorned with colorful beading and knee-high leather boots with what looked like a lining of rabbit fur folded over the top. A traditional Wise Woman’s tattoo—three dark dots in a triangle pattern pierced by the tip of a long, black thorn—arced across her forehead just above her left eyebrow. On the adjacent temple, a small lightning bolt flashed golden in the weak afternoon light.
She bowed in the Leitan fashion, bending her head and upper torso over her open right hand. Shining ebony braids lay coiled into a cone atop her head. Short iron rods shaped as spears held it in place, and small, red feathers, perhaps plucked from a cardinal, fluttered just below the spearheads where they had been tied. Straightening from her bow, she looked steadily at them with dark, almond-shaped eyes, white teeth glistening out of glowing copper skin.
“Welcome, sons of Lorens!” she said with no hint of accent. It should not have unsettled Mardans since five or six generations of Leitani had been born since Margonne’s conquest, but her costume and the alien setting made her perfect Taurani speech seem momentarily strange.
The king matched her respectful bow. “Thank you, Nuha.”
Her broad smile grew even wider. “King Alfons, you honor me! I did not expect you to know the ancient title.”
“Truth be told,” the king said, slightly embarrassed, “I know only a few Leitan words, mostly titles. What is your name, if I may ask?”
“My apologies, Lord King,” she said, eyes downcast as she curtsied in the Margonni way. Her manner became more formal. “I am Tamim, Daughter of the Prophetess. We are Red Hawks. Qadira the Dragon is our kinswoman. Your visit honors us.”
She bowed again to Mardans and then to Lirens, which they returned. “Our thanks to you, Mardans, true brother, for your efforts to return Qadira’s dagger to its rightful place atop ancient Huqsela. We pray those efforts bear fruit.”
Unable to think of anything more appropriate, he said, “Thank you.”
Smiling, she turned to Lirens. “Hail, Sword of Ankara! Our warrior ancestors would have welcomed you into their war band with whoops and shouts for a brother in arms. Though no Leitani in blood, you have Red Hawk spirit!”
The prince grinned and whooped himself. “I like this woman!” he said, laughing.
She looked at the sky, noticing the rain had abated as they talked. “Please follow me, lords. I will escort you to the Prophetess. She is eager to meet and speak with you.”
They hurried around the perimeter of the courtyard, in the center of which stood the massive, flat, iron boulder of the Akan Ganda gleaming with moisture. Just beyond it stood the Prophetess’ unadorned, rough stone house, the last structure on the northern edge of the hilltop. After a polite knock on the plain, brown, wooden door, Tamim entered, pulling it wide to allow the men to follow her inside.
From a far earlier time, the simple building boasted just two rooms, a great room and what had probably once been a bedroom but now stored ceremonial clothing and trappings. Windows on the east, west, and south walls filtered pale light into the room, and a patchwork of rugs and furs, holding the smoke of a thousand old fires in their fibers, covered most of the stone floor. A round table with two wooden chairs anchored the northeast corner. Nearby, an overlarge stone fireplace, in which a small fire crackled, dominated the north wall. Four soft, bison-hide chairs stood before it. Flanking the fireplace, a Margonni-made bookcase in a blond wood held some cracked leather books.
The Prophetess, an older version of her daughter, stood in front of the four chairs. She looked to be about fifty years of age, her long, salt-and-pepper hair hanging down her back in a thick braid. Unlike Tamim, her left temple boasted a second golden lightning symbol, signifying her authority as the Prophetess.
“Welcome, sons of Lorens!” she cried, bowing. “You are welcome in this place! Please, come sit by the fire with me, and Tamim will serve us tea and cookies, just as my long-ago predecessor did when Qadira visited.”
Tamim bustled about as they settled in, bringing over a low, oblong table from the storage room and then a silver tray bearing a silver teapot and a vintage set of porcelain teacups. As her daughter prepared tea, the Prophetess handed each of them a plate with a small pile of cookies on it. She grinned, saying in a warm voice, “Try them. They’re from a nearly two-century-old recipe from Aertella! Delicious!”
Lirens had not waited for an invitation and had finished one before she stopped speaking. “She’s right, guys! They’re wonderful!”
The Prophetess beamed her thanks and sat, smoothing out her skirt. “We should begin, lords, for we have much to discuss.” Despite saying this, she paused, eyes closed, until her daughter poured the tea from the pot into the cups and served the men. When Tamim pressed a cup into her mother’s hand, the Prophetess opened her eyes, sipped the hot liquid, and turned her gaze toward the sons of Lorens II.
“Thank you for heeding my invitation with such haste, sire,” she said. “There is no time to waste. The Red Woman lives, but she is in great distress, Finder. You must find and free her this night!”
Realizing she was speaking to him, Mardans looked at her in anguish. “I have no idea where she is being held. Your note said you have answers.”
“Yes, we will get to that,” she said with a kind smile. “Though terrified, she is brave and feisty like the cat before the rattlesnake. All will be well. Relax.”
He nodded uncertainly, sipping his tea to mask his anxiety.
The Prophetess turned her gaze to Lirens. “Bright Sword of Ankara! To you belongs the task of retrieving Qadira’s dagger. It lies close, within an arrow’s flight, but you will not win it back without trial of arms. The Creator bids you be strong and courageous, and you will prevail. Beware the strike of the eel!”
Lirens rubbed his hands together and grinned, showing all his teeth. “Eel Strikes is best defended by something like Osprey Dives or perhaps Dolphin Leaps. Even Leaf on the Wind might work.”
Alfons shook his head, saying gravely, “Don’t get fancy, Lir! I suggest Dolphin Leaps followed by Placid High Tide.” Lirens nodded as he contemplated the suggestion.
“What are you guys talking about?” Mardans asked, perplexed. “Have you gone daft?”
The king chuckled. “I forgot! You left before our sword master taught us all the positions and advanced moves. Margonne had a Satelen mentor and trainer, Nestor Andromacles, remember? He taught a unique Satelen sword-fighting method, so he used Satelen names for them. Every prince since Margonne has learned them.” He turned to the Prophetess. “Pardon us for interrupting you. We become excited talking about swordplay.”
She waved off his apology. “No need, sire! I am just happy you two were so quick to understand what ‘the strike of the eel’ means! I certainly did not. I just convey what I am instructed to tell you.”
“You are the Mouth of the Creator, right?” Alfons asked suddenly.
She shook her head, blushing. “That is a title too high for me, lord. I merely serve as Prophetess.”
The king seemed puzzled but nodded.
Noticing his expression, the Prophetess said, “If you wish, I could speak with you further about such things.”
“I would like that,” Alfons said solemnly.
She smiled. “I would, too.” Her eyes shifted to Mardans. “Finder, I must now instruct you.”
He put his plate and teacup on the small table and faced her. “I’m listening.”
“Excellent!” she said. “That bodes well.” She closed her eyes, cocking her head slightly as if she were listening to a voice only she heard—and perhaps she was. “Tell me, Finder: Were you aware of the Creator before now?”
“Yes, Prophetess,” he answered, bewildered by her question, “but only because my mother forced me to study the history and cultures of all Osegran nations extensively. I learned what little is recorded in the Taurani language about the Leitani Prophetesses. It mentioned that you follow one you call ‘the Creator,’ not Azuri or the Shepherd.”
“Not completely accurate,” she replied, “but close enough for now. We need not pursue the distinction this day. Perhaps when the king and I meet, you can join us.”
“I would be honored,” he said.
“He only wants more cookies,” Lirens said, chuckling.
She gave him a quick smile and returned her attention to Mardans. “Finder, hear me: The Creator knows you.” She saw him flinch. “Do not fear it! He watches you for good. Lord King,” she said, turning to him, “when did you notice your brother was skilled in finding things?”
“When we were young boys,” he replied, letting a grin brighten his face. “He was so good a finding us when playing hide-and-seek that we often accused him of peeking as we hid.”
“You guys were just bad at hiding,” Mardans said.
“And if anyone lost anything,” Lirens added unbidden, “he could usually find it. He was like a hound on a scent, seems to me.”
“Indeed,” the Prophetess said. “That early demonstration of ‘skill’ or ‘knack’ was, in actuality, a sign of a gifting. As my gift is as a Seer, you are a Finder.”
Frowning, Mardans squirmed in his seat. “That hardly seems possible! I fail as much as I succeed. And in the dagger’s theft and Gemena’s murder, I seem to be completely lost!”
The Prophetess gazed at him with a loving mother’s compassion. “Do not be troubled,” she said in a gentle voice. “In this, you are a novice. You have just learned of this blessing! You have done well gathering facts and using reason.”
He grudgingly accepted her words. “So, how do I use this gift? Is it a feeling I follow? Must I meditate or pray or something like that?”
“Not a feeling,” she said, shaking her head emphatically. “In fact, emotions may get in the way. Finding is a skill of seeing beyond your senses. Think of it more as a kind of insight or intuition, as deep knowledge and understanding that leads you inevitably to your target. You may see connections no one else does. I find it difficult to explain this gift because I do not possess it. I have only read about it in the books of my predecessors.”
“How do I use it then?” he asked, urgency creeping into his voice. “You said I must find Red before tonight ends! How can I learn to use it so fast?”
Lines sprang up between the Prophetess’ brows as she focused on her unseen interlocutor. She nodded and opened her eyes. “King Alfons, I request your help.”
“You have it,” he said.
She turned to Mardans. “If you are willing, we will conduct an experiment.” He agreed with a nod. “You must step outside for a while. While you are out, the king will hide something in this house. Tamim will then summon you inside, and we will see if we can determine how your gift works.”
He did as she asked, and the Nuha fetched him sooner than expected. The others were sitting as they had been, and Tamim returned to kneeling by the fire. They all looked at him, waiting for him to say or do something.
But the hunt had already begun in earnest. Upon entering, Mardans had instinctively begun assessing the room, its occupants, and anything out of place from those few minutes earlier. As he did, he processed what he had learned. The Prophetess says I have a gift: I can find what is lost. So, if she is right, I have an untapped ability, an intuition about where missing things are. I can work out solutions to complex problems. This gift supplies insight or clearness of sight, and shrouds of deception disappear before it. I must be confident that I am indeed a Finder.
A glance at Alfons’ hands verified what his swift survey had caught: The king was no longer wearing his wedding ring, perhaps his most prized possession. The key is figuring out his thinking. Where would Alfons hide the thing he values most? All the while, Mardans had not stopped looking about, walking slowly around the room, weighing the matter and thinking, I do have the skills of a Finder.
He studied Alfons again, then Lirens, then the Prophetess and her daughter. Then he recalled the Prophetess’ word about the gift bestowing skill in seeing beyond what his senses could discover. How do I do that? Is it like how messenger birds find their cotes? If I get close to the lost thing, does my mind blaze like a beacon? Do I hear the tinkling of a bell? No, the Prophetess was careful to call it a skill. It’s about seeing connections, perceiving solutions. It’s about knowing and understanding and putting everything together in a logical framework that leads to an inevitable solution. That’s what I do. I am a Finder.
“Give Alfons his ring, Lirens,” Mardans said abruptly. “It’s in one of your pockets.”
The prince hooted in laughter, seemingly unsurprised. “You’re exactly right!” he exclaimed. “How did you know?” From a shirt pocket, Lirens fished the gold ring set with five large diamonds, returning it to the king, whose mouth still hung open.
“After I noticed Alfons’ ring was missing, it became a logic puzzle,” Mardans replied. “Even here, he would entrust his most prized possession to no one but you. When I concluded that, a sense of absolute certainty filled me. And I was right. I am a Finder. I still have to do a lot of heavy investigation and deep thinking to fit the pieces together, but once I hit on the true solution, I knew beyond all doubt it was right.”
The Prophetess nodded. “Such gifts manifest themselves differently in each. You have impressively demonstrated your skill.”
“Thank you,” Mardans said, “but Alfons could have done a better job of hiding it.”
She shrugged. “It may have taken longer, but the result would have been the same.”
“Even so, I am still not sure I know how it will help me find Red,” he said. “I have nothing to think or intuit from.”
“Then here are my answers, Finder,” she said, “the ones you requested. In my vision of the Red Woman, two details stood out: a red hand and white horses.”
Mardans’ eyes grew wide. “I know where she is!”
A note:
Alfons’ ring is described as “gold . . . with five large diamonds.” When he and Queen Constans designed it, they followed a traditional pattern inaugurated by Margonne’s second king, Lorens I. Being the kingdom’s second monarch, he included two diamonds on his wedding ring, and the subsequent monarchs followed suit. Alfons is the fifth king of Margonne, so his wedding ring boasts five diamonds. It is a standing joke in the family that the Ankaras must maintain and grow their wealth just to support their future kings’ wedding rings. By the way, Constans’ ring features a large hexagonal amethyst surrounded by five diamonds—one centered on each edge except the bottom.