Page 119 of A Simple Truth

“Seer powers or not, you, princess, are a Destroyer at heart. You'll stab me first before you’d come up with the rhyme for a curse.” Xentar shook his head.

I shrugged, considering. “You aren’t wrong there. Butrhymes? Really?”

“Yes, rhymes are needed to place a curse or a prophecy.”

“What is the difference anyway between curses, prophecies and visions…” I inquired, still trying to organize the information. The more I learned and the busier I stayed untangling the web of mages’ abilities and history, the less opportunity my tumultuous feelings about a certain General had to emerge. Feelings that I had shoved far behind the heavy locks and iron doors.

“Think of it this way; in visions, you observe fate happening in the future or in the past. In prophecy, you seal it. Same thing for curses. The difference between the two is the Seer’s intent. Prophecy is good, curse is bad. Though, people are afraid of both.”

“Why?” I asked, surprised. “I understand curses, but what is wrong about getting a prophecy?”

“Not many people appreciate someone deciding their fate for them, whether good or bad. Curses and prophecies are the same that way; they lack the receiver's choice.”

“I’m getting the feeling Seers weren’t too popular even with the Magic Wielders.” I let out a sigh as our boat approached the island. “There goes my last chance at popularity.”

Xentar couldn't help but release a jovial laugh. “You are a quick learner. But no, most Seers were great historians, writers, scholars, trusted Emperors’ advisers, and overall, well-respected members of our society. Seers always reminded everyone around them to value the present, to care about thenow.I guess when you see the past and consider the complexity of the future, the present is all that truly mattered to them.”

With a simple motion of his hand, Xentar calmed the winds around us, bringing the boat to a sandy shore ribboning the tall steep cliffs of the island. We jumped into the shallow waters,pushing the boat to a small strip of pebbled sand until it was safely anchored.

“So, what does the training for a Seer entail? Besides obviously practicing my rhymes.” My nose flared as I fought for breaths, my weakened body protesting, as we climbed up the rocky path leading to the village.

“Most Seers take on an apprentice before their powers fully develop. Usually, they start quite young. Being a Seer is as much of a gift as it is a skill. Although we don’t have a Seer to help you, there are a few things that we can teach you. Petunia’s grandmother—you remember Petunia, right?” He winked at me, and I gave an exasperated eye roll. “Her grandma was a Seer, so she gave some helpful suggestions in the matter.”

I wiped a small drip of sweat off my brow, slowing my pace as we reached the top. But before I could ask what those ‘suggestions’ entailed; a familiar, angel-like figure appeared. Aurelia animatedly waved at us as we strolled down the grassy path leading to the village.

“Finally!” she shouted, making her way to us, barefoot, with a flowy, summer dress on. Her long, white hair peeked out from the large straw hat she wore, the blue ribbons swaying with her rushed steps. “I haven’t seen your face in ages! I have so much to catch you up on now that you’ve missed our walks for a few days. First, the Nightingale nest has three eggs now! Three, Finn! We thought two, but there are three!” she wheezed. “Second, the birchclaw nest has its first hatchling and…” Aurelia’s bright voice echoed in my ears, but my breath caught in my lungs as I saw him.

Viyak.

It took me a minute to register his face, his usual matted beard gone, his hair shorter and somehow blonder. He smiled at me with the widest smile I had ever seen on him. I had nevernoticed he had dimples before. I had never seen his eyes lit up with such joy either, as he limped towards me.

I pinched myself just to make sure it wasn’t a dream, that I wouldn’t wake up to the harsh reality of him being gone. But before long, his gangly arms wrapped around me and I fully embraced his tight hug, wrapping my own arms around his body, frowning at the feeling of nothing but skin and bones. He was tall and yet, he was less than half my size.

“I am so glad you’re okay, Finn!” His cheerful voice rang in my ears, like a bright ray of sunshine illuminating the dark clouds that were my thoughts.

“Can’t get rid of me so easily.” A wide grin spread across my face, and he held onto me for a second longer not willing to let go.

“Hello, Finn.” Lord De Villiar bowed slightly to me in greeting. My brows rose in surprise at the formal gesture, but I awkwardly returned it. “We are about to have lunch; would you like to join us?” He offered.

“As long as it’s Lady De Villiar’s cooking and not yours.” Xentar jokingly poked, and Lord De Villiar’s face softened as he snorted.

“I think these people suffered enough without having to taste my cooking.”

Viyak’s fingers intertwined with mine as we followed Lord De Villiar towards the small grassy field. He held onto my hand tightly and I squeezed his hand back, reassuring him that though I looked different, I had not forgotten the days we spent chained together. That I would always remember the silent meaning behind the quiet hand squeeze in the dark caves of the Rock Quarry.

That we made it through another day in slavery.

That I was alive.

And so was he.

Lady De Villiar, along with a few of the other human refugees, were lining up to serve food. “Sorry, boring soup today for lunch.” She graciously smiled, handing me a wooden ladle to help pour the golden liquid into the empty bowls. “Their stomachs barely hold more than half a cup of water at this point, but we have to start somewhere.” She lifted a large towel off a big, metal bowl filled with freshly baked rolls. Their warm yeasty smell traveling down to the village on a sudden gust of island breeze.

“Delicious!” Aurelia proclaimed, as she eagerly started handing out the bread to the lined-up survivors waiting for their meal. Abruptly, a woman stopped in front of the line, staring at the steaming bowl of soup and the fresh roll in her hand, with glassy eyes.

I wasn’t sure how old she was; perhaps a bit older than Viyak, perhaps younger. Slavery was merciless to the body, and age meant nothing after the Rock Quarries. Her wrists were two shades lighter than her arms, white lines lingered like scars from the shackles that were there just a week ago.

She stood there, motionless, while quiet tears rolled down her cheeks.

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