Arc 2 – Prologue – A Mandate from Heaven / And Life Continued

Prologue

A Mandate from Heaven / And Life Continued

            The brazier in the center of the room crackled, casting long, twisting shadows across the paper walls of the saranchae.  Prince Yi Hwi-Yeon sat perfectly motionless on his silk cushion, his spine was a rigid line.  His hands were hidden entirely within the voluminous, crimson sleeves of his embroidered robes.  Beneath the silk, his palms burned.  The skin of his knuckles grew dangerously tight, a phantom pressure building right beneath his fingernails.  He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, drawing a slow, freezing breath deep into his lungs to force the unnatural heat back down into his chest.

            Control, he reminded himself.  Be stone.

            Across the low lacquer table, the Second State Councillor sat with his head bowed, but the true weight in the room came from the woman with golden hair kneeling beside him.  Sung-mi, the High Shaman of the Royal Court, wore the stark white robes of her office.  Unlike the shaking politician next to her, her golden eyes were wide, clear, and haunted by a vision that had not yet left her.

            “Your Highness,” the Councillor spoke, his voice hushed.  “The High Shaman has spent three nights at the sacred altar.  The heavens have parted, and the ancestral fires have spoken.  A mandate has descended from the heavens.”

            Hwi-Yeon did not move, but his gaze locked onto the Shaman.  To the human council, they worshiped Io as a distant, mythic dragon deity of the cosmos.  To Hwi-Yeon and the royal bloodline, Io was their direct father.  He was the primordial force of war, destruction, and space who had birthed their very kind into Eidolyn.

            “Speak, Shaman,” Hwi-Yeon commanded, his voice dropping an octave lower than normal.  He tightly gripped his own forearms beneath his sleeves, using the physical pressure to relieve the tension that ripped across his flesh.

            High Shaman Sung-mi bowed her head to the floor before speaking.  “The great god Io has spoken of a coming storm, Prince Hwi-Yeon.  A darkness gathers in the north, a corruption that will swallow Eidolyn if left unchecked.  Io has commanded an alliance.  We must bind our fate to the kingdom Elgoss, across the vast ocean.”

            Hwi-Yeon’s brows furrowed. “Elgoss? Those foreigners?”

            “They are the chosen of the god, Damian,” Sung-mi whispered.  “The lord of humanity, light, and life.  The heavens decree that the dragon and the light must stand as one to weather the chaos.  A marriage must seal the pact.  A daughter of Damian's chosen realm must wed a son of Trelivia.”

            A fierce, predatory instinct roared in Hwi-Yeon's ears, urging him to tear the silk from his arms.  A foreign woman.  A human stranger from a land ruled by Damian, a god notorious for his chaotic whim, pranks, and unpredictable nature.  To bring a human woman blessed by a god of light into a household of dragons was a recipe for disaster, or worse, exposure.

            Outside the thin paper doors, the wind howled through the courtyard.  To the human officials, it was a sudden draft.  To Hwi-Yeon, it was the heavy, suffocating pressure of Io’s divine authority pressing down on his chest.  A mandate from the Creator could not be ignored.

            “The King has already received the word of the Creator,” the Councillor added anxiously.  “His Majesty recognizes the divine will of Io.  The State Council is preparing to draft the royal decree.  They whisper that the Crown Prince cannot leave the capital, so Prince Hwi-Yeon must be the one to fulfill the god's mandate.”

            Hwi-Yeon looked down at his hidden hands.  If he stayed here, the court would trap him, he had known this for years.  They would draft the decree and bring a foreign stranger into his estate, and surround him with prying eyes, all in the name of the Creator.

            But if Io was ordering this alliance, and Damian was cooperating from across the sea, then the true battlefield would not be here in the capital.  It was likely going to be on foreign soil.  The storm was coming, and a prince of Io’s blood belonged at the front lines, not waiting like a prize calf in a courtyard.

            “Let the council halt the drafting of the decree,” Hwi-Yeon said flatly.

            The Councillor blinked, lifting his head in surprise.  

            “Your Highness? We cannot defy the mandate of Io,” he stated plainly.

            “I do not intend to defy it,” Hwi-Yeon corrected, rising to his full height.  His heavy robes swished authoritatively around his boots.  He slid his hands out of his sleeves, keeping his fingers loosely curled into tight fists to hide the tremor of his muscles.  “Tell the Ministry of Defense to ready the diplomatic fleet. If our Creator demands an alliance, I will not sit in the capital waiting for a foreign bride to cross the sea.”

            “You mean to sail East yourself?” the Shaman asked looking up.  Her eyes flashing with sudden insight.

            “The Crown Prince must remain to guard the throne,” Hwi-Yeon commanded, his voice ringing with absolute finality.  “I will cross the ocean.  I will see this kingdom of stone and light, and I will judge this princess myself.  If we are to fight a war alongside the people of Elgoss, I will face them, and my future bride, on my own terms.”

            The Councillor stared at him in utter shock, but High Shaman Sung-mi merely bowed again, sensing the deep, unyielding fire of the dragon god burning within the young prince's resolve.

            “Then, if Your Highness permits, I shall go too,” she said, her forehead touching the floor.

***

            Over a year had passed since the day I had been reborn into my own flesh, as a new creation born of two souls, now inhabiting my old form.  That was probably the easiest way to explain it.  The truth, however, was considerably more complicated.

            For the first few weeks, simply looking into a mirror had been an adventure.  The girl staring back at me was still Beira Braemar.  She had my face, my nose, my mouth, and the same ice-blue left eye I had seen every day since my sight returned.

            The right side was another matter entirely.

            Golden blond had taken over the right half of my light blue hair, dividing it almost perfectly down the middle, including my bangs, while my right eye had become the same brilliant gold.  While my hair changing was expected considering how one’s affinities are known to manifest, eyes typically aren’t governed by the same laws.  No physicians had been able to explain it and none of the palace mages had been able to change it, this was just the way it was now.

            Damian had been considerably less helpful when asked and, as he put it… “Apparently, when two souls that were never supposed to occupy the same body decide to become one, unusual things could happen.”

            Who knew?

            At least I had eventually stopped startling myself every morning.

            Everyone else took considerably longer.

            For months, I couldn't walk through Aberling without someone staring.  At first, the whispers had followed me everywhere.  The story released by the Crown had explained enough of what happened at the masquerade to satisfy most people without revealing the parts that were better left unsaid.

            Brigid Thayne had attempted to murder me… again.  Prince Angus had fought to protect me.  The god, Damian, had intervened and I had somehow survived, again.

            Everything else had become the property of rumor.

            My favorite, if favorite was the correct word, was the name someone had apparently decided I needed.  The Girl with Two Souls.  They had no idea how painfully accurate it was.  The rumor was that my soul had been split, half trapped by Brigid in her mad schemes, while the remaining half woke up against all odds with memories lost, virtually a new person.

            Fortunately, very few people knew the actual truth.

            My parents knew about Michael/Michelle, as did Mari, my cousin.  King Malcolm and Queen Catriona knew about Michelle, but I had purposefully omitted the information about Michael.  As far as they knew, I had simply been a girl from another world, there was no need for them to know she had been born male. 

            Out of everyone, though, Angus knew even more.  I had opened up to him about exactly what I had been in my old life because I wanted to be one hundred percent honest with him.  He had seen Michelle.  Not Michael, the confused boy who had died beneath the wheels of a truck on another world, but Michelle.  The reflection of the soul I had always carried, even when the body surrounding it had been wrong. 

            And so, I told him about that and much, much more.  It had taken me some time to explain Earth to him.  It had taken considerably longer to explain television.  I still wasn't entirely convinced he believed me about airplanes.  His brain had a hard enough time wrapping itself around the concept of a world without magic, much less one that used technology to compensate.

            Life, however, had eventually done what life always seemed to do… it continued.

            I returned to Saint Astra's with, thankfully, minimum fanfare and life with my friends resumed as if I had never left.

            Izzy immediately declared that my new hair was beautiful, spent several days suggesting increasingly ridiculous hairstyles that would emphasize the division, and became personally offended when I refused most of them.

            Mari merely adjusted her glasses, stared at me for several uncomfortable seconds, and announced that at least I would now be easier to locate in a crowd, causing Lena to laugh.

            Somehow, that had been enough to make everything feel normal again, or as normal as my life ever became.

            My sixteenth birthday came and went.  Father returned from Braemar Keep for it, though his duties kept him in the north far more often than Mother or I would have liked.  Mother divided her time between the keep and Aberling, frequently arriving at the capital with enough instructions for me to suspect she had spent the entire journey writing them down.

            Angus turned eighteen. 

            That particular birthday brought considerably less celebration for me.  His birthday coincided with his graduation from the military academy and meant that the next stage of his life was beginning.  Like every royal son expected to serve the kingdom, Angus would soon begin his mandatory military service.

            I had always known it was coming, but knowing did not make the thought of months apart particularly pleasant.

            We had spent the past year stealing whatever time we could find together between his academy obligations and mine.  Sometimes we attended formal events.  Sometimes we walked through the gardens.  Sometimes we simply sat together and talked.

            It was ordinary and in brief time returned, I had learned to treasure ordinary.  Unfortunately, ordinary appeared to have developed an intense dislike for me.

            Damian had become increasingly difficult to reach as the months passed.

            The few times I saw him, the playful little boy I had first met was still there, but there was something behind his eyes that hadn't been there before, weariness.  He never told me everything and I suspect that was intentional.

            The mark I had seen on the Woodkin child and later burned across Brigid Thayne's back had finally been given a name, though knowing what it was had done very little to make me feel better about it.

            Shavalyoth, was the name given by Damian with instructions for me to never say its name out loud, lest its eye turn to me once again.  Even thinking the name sometimes left an unpleasant pressure crawling along the back of my thoughts.

            I still remembered looking at that mark only I could see and, more importantly, I remembered the sensation of something looking back.

            Most days, it was easy to convince myself that moment was over, but some nights, it wasn't.  Some nights it would haunt me in my dreams, chasing me, calling my name over and over.

            The gods were investigating.  Father was investigating.  The Crown was investigating, but nobody seemed particularly interested in telling me exactly what they had discovered other than the little Damian had said.

            Considering my previous experiences with people trying to protect me by withholding information, I found this irritating though, considering the expressions on their faces whenever Shavalyoth was mentioned, thankfully not by name, I had not yet decided whether I actually wanted to know.

            Beyond those shadows, though, my first year back at Saint Astra's had been remarkably uneventful.

            Well… mostly uneventful.

            Izzy continued her private war against Mrs. Crafton with the dedication of a soldier defending her homeland and Mrs. Crafton continued to insist that Izzy's behavior was not a war.  Izzy considered this to be enemy propaganda, but in the end, Mrs. Crafton won.

            She retired.

            Izzy considered that a victory anyway.  She also declared the retirement a belated birthday present to herself despite Mrs. Crafton leaving nearly a month after her birthday and, as far as I knew, having made the decision without consulting Izzy whatsoever.

            Mari had pointed this out.

            Izzy had ignored her.

            Some things just do not change.

            Other things, however, do.

            Mari and Lena had become nearly inseparable during the year.  I wasn't entirely sure when that had happened.  Somewhere between classes, afternoons in the library, and the endless social obligations of noble life, the two had simply begun spending more and more time together.  I thought it was nice.  Izzy thought it was adorable.  Mari threatened us whenever either of us mentioned it and Lena usually turned red.

            I swiftly learned not to ask questions and wait for them to tell us on their own time.

            There were other changes beyond Saint Astra's as well.

            Westerroch had grown increasingly belligerent along the border.  Father tried to dismiss my questions whenever he returned from Braemar Keep, but even I could tell something was happening.  Troop movements had increased.  Military spending became a frequent subject at court, and Prince Edgar spent more time with the Northern Royal Armies and less in Aberling with his family.

            King Malcolm insisted there was no war.

            Yet.

            That word always seemed to accompany the reassurance... 

            Yet.

            Still, those were concerns for kings, generals, gods, and apparently my father.

            Mine were considerably simpler. At least, I had believed they were.

            The summer before my second full year back at Saint Astra's was almost over when Izzy arrived at the Braemar residence in Aberling without warning.

            She didn't knock which was nothing unusual, she rarely did.

            I was sitting in the drawing room with Mari and Lena when the doors flew open hard enough to strike the wall.

            Izzy stood in the doorway and, for once, she wasn't bouncing.  She wasn't smiling either, that alone was enough to make me sit upright.  Mari slowly lowered her book and turned her gaze to Izzy.  Lena stopped halfway through raising her teacup.

            Izzy stared at the three of us, her pale lavender eyes impossibly wide, then she held up the folded letter clutched in her hand.

            “I’m getting married,” she announced.

            Silence filled the room.

            I blinked in shock.  Lena and Mari stared at each other as if searching for something to say.

            Izzy's expression crumpled.

            “Well, not right now!” she declared loudly.

            And just like that, my peaceful year came to an end.