“Lessee, Santollian, hundreds of years ago, what did my father…” the prophet tapped his finger against his chin. “Ah!” He gave a low bow. “It is an honor to share this vision with you, Indenuel.” He straightened before squeezing Indenuel’s elbow. It wasn’t necessarily correct, but it was clear the prophet was aware.
“Your father knows our ways?”
“He was a historian and worked with the university near my home while I was a teenager. He’s super proud of me, but also insanely jealous of what I got to see. Now he’s passed on, and it’s my turn to be jealous of all these incredible people he has met in the afterlife.” The prophet straightened his shirt again, giving the portrait another look before focusing. “Now, remember, the people we see cannot see you. Only the most powerful of gifted seers can see the people who are witnessing the vision. We, sadly, cannot make any changes to the past.” As the prophet talked, the darkness shifted, and shapes began to appear that turned into a house. He and the prophet floated over to it. Indenuel wanted to walk around to explore the small home, but he couldn’t move. He simply existed in this form. There was a woman, her back to them. The material of her dress looked old. It was a simple one that wrapped around her. Guessing from the dull color and no shoes on her feet, this woman was in the poor class.
“Do you know how far in the past we are?” Indenuel asked.
“This is before the Great Flood,” the prophet said.
“Before?” Indenuel turned, staring at the woman. This raised so many questions. The spirits of the people before the great flood, they had all disappeared from the spirit world. It had always bothered him why that was.
The woman was writing on a parchment. Indenuel was curious to know what eye color she had. The vision seemed to understand and the two of them began to glide until they were in front of the woman. She stared forward, her eyes a glowing golden color. She had long brown hair, half of it tied up in a knot.
“What? What race is that?” Indenuel asked, pointing at her eyes.
“This is what you look like when you’re having a vision,” the prophet said. “Your eyes look like this now in your time, as do mine.”
“She’s a prophetess, then?” He looked down and saw the inscription on the paper.
In the Second Age, a princess with eyes of Blue
“The Divine Ages! She’s writing…” Indenuel stared at this woman again. “The unknown prophet is actually a prophetess?”
The prophet clearly already knew. The woman was writing so slow, but with precision, considering she wasn’t even looking at the parchment.
“Why would she be lost in history?” Indenuel asked.
The prophet paused, then gave a curious look. “Because she’s a woman.”
He said it as though it answered the question, but Indenuel was still confused. “What do you mean?”
“Women are not treated well at all in ancient history,” the prophet said. He gave a tiny wince. “Or in my time. Still not too well in the future either.” The prophet’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah, that’ll come back to haunt us.”
Indenuel’s mind instantly went to Inessa. He watched the woman continue writing with her quill, almost in a trance. “Inessa, my friend, I don’t think she’s been treated the best.”
“Mmm,” the prophet said as though he understood completely. “Yep. Good example.” It took Indenuel by surprise.
“You know Inessa?”
“I’ve met her once or twice,” the prophet said.
“Really? You’ve met her?” Indenuel asked.
The prophet shrugged. “High Elder Martin’s one and only concubine, right?”
“Yes.”
The prophet nodded again. Indenuel continued to watch the prophetess slowly write out the Divine Ages.
The prophet let out a tiny gasp and touched his head. Indenuel gave him a strange look. “Are you alright?”
The prophet touched his wrists before looking at Indenuel straight in the eye, studying him closely. “Yeah. Fine.” He dropped his hands. “Just fine. Forgive me. Sometimes… sometimes my gift gives me a headache. Um…” He closed his eyes, then nodded. “Inessa. I met Inessa.” He cleared his throat. “And that one man who says knows you well but was lost in history. What was his name?” The prophet was scratching the back of his head before he snapped his fingers. “Matteo.”
Indenuel’s eyes went wide and an ache filled his soul. “You’ve met Matteo as well?”
The prophet nodded. “Quite the powerful speaker to the dead.”
“He’s a speaker to the dead?” Indenuel asked.
The prophet looked surprised. “You didn’t know that?”
Indenuel’s mind reeled with this information. “We all assumed his gift never manifested.”
“Well, I’m not sure when it’ll come about, but yes, he’s a speaker to the dead. Once he found out how to reach me, he hasn’t left me alone. He brought your mom Lucia a few times, too. She’s a very inquisitive woman. Both of them are. I have not gotten any real sleep in the past three months.”
Indenuel felt his own headache coming on. This man in the future, this insanely powerful prophet, had met Inessa, Lucia, and Matteo.
“Are they alright?” Indenuel asked.
“Perfectly fine, yes. Happy with the good spirits in the afterlife.”
Indenuel’s chest constricted. Of course, this man had to be hundreds of years into the future, so of course Inessa and Matteo would have already passed on, but it was still strange to think of them being in that state, but at least pleased to hear they were with the good spirits. A strange wave of homesickness hit him as he thought of Matteo and Lucia, knowing this man had talked to him and he had yet to do the same.
“My mother? Is she alright?”
The prophet began to talk, and once again Indenuel couldn’t make it out. His lips moved, and it seemed like he was talking, but there was nothing. Indenuel tried not to let this hurt him. “I… I can’t hear you.”
The prophet paused, almost confused. “Really? All I said was-” again his voice simply stopped. Indenuel gave a shrug and shook his head. The prophet frowned, then tried again, and once again he heard nothing.
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“It’s alright. If you’re not allowed to tell, then we probably shouldn’t try.”
The prophet’s nod was grim before he faced the prophetess. Indenuel tried not to be troubled by the lack of information, but he was. Why couldn’t he learn anything about Lucia? What were the mysterious deities doing to make learning about her such an uphill battle?
The golden color of her eye receded to a green. “Ah. Santollian,” Indenuel said.
There was a knock on the door. “Mela?” a man called out.
The woman gasped, then looked down at the parchment.
“Mela?” the man asked again.
Mela stood and hurried toward the door, opening it. “Jaakob,” she said with a curtsey. “An honor.”
“Jaakob?” Indenuel asked, gasping. “As in the Prophet Jaakob?”
The prophet nodded, again grimly. Mela opened the door and a tall man with green eyes and brown hair strode in.
“I think I have something that will prove to the High Elders you are not a witch,” Jaakob said.
Mela gave a slight smile. “No time for simple greetings, then?”
“I’m serious. They are starting to get suspicious, and I cannot have you brought forward to prove you aren’t. That is degrading for a woman,” Jaakob said.
“They have no solid proof against me,” Mela said.
“You predicted the Oraminian’s baby would live, despite all the female healers telling her otherwise,” Jaakob said.
“I’m so glad Rashia’s healthy baby girl is somehow a mark against my good character,” Mela said.
“You’re not taking this seriously,” Jaakob said.
“So, I’m a powerful speaker to the dead,” Mela said with a shrug. “High Elder Zavier is jealous, certainly. There is little else I can do.”
Mela about left to pick up the parchment when Jaakob grabbed her elbow. Mela looked at him, confused. “You can teach me though, right?”
Mela winced before looking away. “Just meditation, Jaakob. It’s all this is.” She moved away from him and picked up the parchment, heading toward the fire. Indenuel’s chest tightened, and he almost reached out to stop her, but the prophet shook his head.
“It’s in our time, so we know it lasts,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
Indenuel wanted to protest, but Jaakob beat him to it. “What is that?”
“This?” Mela asked, holding up the paper. “Just some things I saw.” She almost tossed it in the fire when Jaakob was there, grabbing it.
“What things?” he asked. She grew silent, looking at him. He frowned as he took the paper and read it. “Mela, what are these?”
Again, she stayed silent. Jaakob pushed her with his gaze, and she sighed. “The second age is ending soon. In another thirty years, all of this will be covered in water. I saw the third and final age, broken into eight parts. Saw fragments, saw what was to come. I wrote down what the Savior told me as we were there. And also heeded his warning that this information was dangerous.”
“You met the Savior?”
“He’s always the one with me in the visions.”
He looked troubled by this. “And… and you’re positive it wasn’t the devil?”
Her face fell. “You too, Jaakob?”
He lifted his hands in defense. “I just have to check.” Mela’s eyes glinted a yellowish color before she gasped and took a step back. Jaakob frowned. “What is it? What did you see?”
“I need to burn it,” Mela said, taking the parchment from Jaakob. “Please, you never should have read it.”
He easily overpowered her. He took a step back, staring at her with curiosity. “Come now, Mela. This is good. If you really did see the third age, then this is a blessing. It will prepare them for what they need. They will wonder why the spirits of the second age aren’t with them as we have ascended into the higher heavens, and they’ll need to know that.”
Indenuel gasped. “Is that… is that what happened to the spirits?”
The prophet shrugged. “Pretty sure. At least, that’s what the Savior told me, and he’s a reliable guy.”
“Higher heavens? What is that?” Indenuel asked.
“I don’t know. Just that it’s there,” the prophet said.
Indenuel gave an annoyed sigh but didn’t push it. At least he had something, which was enough for now.
Mela shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Please promise me you will throw this parchment in the fire.”
“Of course, Mela.” He looked at the parchment, and Indenuel started to feel uneasy. Mela touched her head, backing away slowly.
“Please, Jaakob.”
He chuckled. “Don’t you believe me?”
Her face said it all. “Do not go down this path.”
“What path are you talking about?”
“Don’t search into it anymore. Only those chosen can see the future and you… you aren’t. Whatever future you see, it will be what the devil shows you.”
Indenuel’s mouth hung open. If Jaakob… if he saw… that meant… “Are his words to be trusted?” Indenuel asked the prophet.
The prophet said nothing, simply watched.
“You need to teach me. How do you get visions. I want to know! You get them so easily! And if you teach me, then I’ll know to prepare myself against the devil,” Jaakob said.
Mela shook her head. “You’re not going to burn it, are you.” She covered her eyes. “Please, Jaakob. This will bring so much heartache. It may seem good what the devil is showing you, but he will twist the truth. By giving the third age too much, it will cause more confusion than it needs to. Please, please throw it in the fire.”
The vision blurred before they were back in the darkened room. Indenuel stared where Jaakob and Mela disappeared. “The Prophet Jaakob’s writings. They’re tainted by the devil.”
The prophet rubbed his head, looking sad. “It is a puzzle we will never figure out until it happens. Most of it is true, except for a few things that have been twisted.”
Indenuel’s mind instantly went to what he read about being alone in the great battle. What if he wasn’t alone? What if the devil only let Jaakob see that because he wanted to bring confusion?
“Am I alone in the great battle?” Indenuel asked before he could stop himself.
The prophet lifted his head from his hand to look at Indenuel. There was so much in his face that he simply did not understand. “It’s like the vision said. Sometimes it’s better not to know too much,” the prophet said quietly.
Indenuel winced and looked away. “I don’t like this power.”
The prophet’s smile was sad. “Yeah. I know. It’s not so much the events we are warning the people about, it’s how they choose to react to them. We cannot stop it, but through our efforts we can help their souls come closer to the powers that be. That’s all that matters.”
Indenuel frowned, staring at the prophet. “You sound like Martin.”
There was a pause, then the prophet’s entire face lit up. “Martin the Healer?” The prophet stood up a little straighter, the smile far too wide on his face. “Me, sounding like High Elder Martin. Yes, I will take that as the compliment it is!”
Indenuel raised an eyebrow. “You know Martin?”
“Well, sort of. From my history books.”
“He hasn’t visited you?” Indenuel asked.
“No, no,” the prophet said, the smile still on his face. “Honestly, I would absolutely freak out if he did. I’m one of his biggest fans. That man is a legend in my eyes. I seriously cannot wait to meet him. That would be awesome!”
Indenuel just stared at the prophet, slightly confused at this reaction. “Should I know what happened? Was it something in his past?”
“No, it-” the prophet came to a complete stop, the smile dropped from his face, and he looked at Indenuel. He cleared his throat. “You see he…” He glanced up at the ceiling of the dark room, trying to think of what to say. “He’ll make a decision that…” The prophet rubbed the side of his head. “I have always had a soft spot for…” the prophet shook his head. “You know what? Forget I said anything.”
Indenuel could do nothing more than stare. The prophet was a strange fellow.
The prophet glanced around himself. “This is feeling like the end. Indenuel, it has been a pleasure to meet you.” A lot of emotions crossed his face. “I hope… I hope you… I hope that we…” The prophet gnawed on his lip, then patted Indenuel on the shoulder. “You’ll be alright.”
Indenuel blinked a few times. “That has to be the most ominous thing anyone has ever told me.”
The prophet’s smile dropped. He didn’t even try to bring it back. “Remember what I told you before about the powers that be.”
Indenuel was starting to get confused. “When did you tell me about that?”
The prophet turned his head from side to side, trying to find the right words. “It will be in your future, even though it’s already happened in my past, but it’s still vital to remember. Okay?”
Indenuel struggled to comprehend what that would even mean. “You are so confusing.”
The smile finally returned on the prophet’s face as he patted him on the shoulder again. “Remember. Get someone to write down this vision. And go confuse your High Elders, okay? Oh! And say hello to High Elder Martin for me! Tell him I’m his number one fan and I’m rooting for him!”
He didn’t have time to answer. The world brightened and the prophet began to fade.
Indenuel jerked in his chair. He was back in the dining hall of Martin’s house. He patted his body, searched the room with his eyes to see if the prophet had come with him, but he saw no one.
He leapt out of his chair and threw the door open, startling one of the servants.
“Warrior Indenuel. How may I-”
“Martin! I need to see him now!”
“He’s still in a meeting with the other High Elder’s in his study. Once they are done they will request your-”
“All the better!” Indenuel broke into a run, heading straight for Martin’s study.