Thistle followed a small dirt path up the craggy cliffside. She walked this path countless times before in search of quiet retreat, but none as necessary as now. It was over a week since her sight was discovered. Word traveled to nearby communities like wildfire. Day after day, she sat in the dining hall as people grabbed her hands with hopeful looks in their eyes. Rarely did she get a vision at their touch, but on occasion, she was hit like a blow to the head. She felt used and exposed. But that was the legacy of a Seer. Born from a magic long ago, chosen Crüneans were cursed with visions of what could be. A Seer’s purpose was to foresee disasters across the continent of Ashëthis and report them to the Commission—a mixture of Seers, Necromancers, and Mages. The Commission then categorized the disasters by criticality and attempted to interfere with those they could stop. Or felt were important enough to waste resources on. Ashëthis saw the Seers as their distant protectors, and Crünean communities loved the bragging rights of birthing them.
When she finally reached the edge of the cliff, she took a deep breath, staring down at the rocky beach below. The water was high this time of year, leaving tide pools full of crabs and sea creatures scuttling about on the rocks. A few sea lions bathed in the warm sun. She sat and dangled her feet off the edge, looking out at the expanse of the ocean. Maybe, if she was lucky, the Commission would station her near the sea. Even a lake would be nice. Spirits forbid they place her in a desolate plateau without waters.
“May I join you?” her mother’s voice asked politely from behind. She didn’t wait for an answer but sat beside Thistle and wrapped her hand in hers. “I used to take you here when you were a baby. The sound of the waves soothed your crying. I never knew how much it would mean to you as you grew.”
“I’ll hate it if I’m stationed somewhere without the sea,” she sighed, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Will you come visit, even if it’s far?”
“We’ll worry about that when the time comes, Thistle. You must stop planning for every future before you know the one you are dealt. It’s stressful on the mind. Especially for a Seer. You’ll see thousands of possible futures and never be able to control ten.”
Thistle nodded, swallowing hard against the unknown fears.
“Of course we will visit wherever you are, if we can. And you can visit us as well. Seers are allowed to leave their station once in a season-cycle,” she stood and squeezed her daughter’s shoulders. “The Guide will arrive this evening. Don’t linger here too much longer, we need to get you ready. You leave in the morning.”
Thistle nodded again, watching a seapup tug on its mother’s feet for attention. The mother rolled over lazily and pushed the pup into the water with its flippers. The pup splashed about before attempting the same tactic again.
By the time Thistle made her way back to the commune, the sun was dipping low, and a crowd was gathered outside the small gates. Her mother caught sight of her approaching and hurried forward, grabbing her face and smearing black paint on her lips and eyelids.
“Sorry, momma I… didn’t want to come back.”
“You cannot run from fate, my child. Just as the ocean cannot run from the influence of moons.”
The sound of hooves on stone pulled mother and daughter away.
“Hurry!” her mother hissed, straightening her tunic and brushing sand away from its folds.
Thistle scurried to the small stone gate, standing as tall as she could. She tried to force her legs to stop shaking, but anticipation made her skin crawl. Who would her Guide be? She met a few throughout her life and they were all as serious and miserable as Seers. She wondered if they were as scared of their fate as she was. What she wasn’t expecting was the boy she saw riding on the painted ram. His hair was long and greasy, and his skin was slate gray. A Stratan? They locked eyes as he approached, and Thistle quickly scrunched her face in shock. His left cheek looked broken and sunken, the eye above practically swollen shut. Spirits below, was he in a damn tavern brawl on his way down?
The boy looked away, and Thistle felt embarrassed at her reaction. She tried to catch his eye again and smile encouragingly, but he avoided her gaze. The group dismounted their rams and approached, heads bowed.
“Welcome, Guided Party,” her voice sounded stiff and rehearsed like a professor trying to give their first lecture. “The spirits below have blessed your family for generations, providing a Guide to the revered Seers of the world.” No, that wasn’t it. Her voice trembled as she tried to remember the lines, anxiety clouding her mind. The boy smirked at her fumble. “Tradition states that you...we... gather this evening to fulfill the prophecy.” She glanced to the older man beside the boy for support, but he looked outraged at her feeble attempt at the greeting. Her eyes fell to his hands. Dried blood coated the knuckles. She looked back at the boy in alarm. His father? This was the man that would lead them to the Springs? Her stomach churned.
She jumped as her mother cleared her throat, suddenly at her side. “Fellow Rite, find yourselves at rest…” Thistle relaxed as her mother recited the speech perfectly. She looked back at the boy. He looked younger than her by a few cycles, maybe nineteen. A nudge to her side pulled her out of her thoughts. “...May I introduce the Eclipsed, Thistle.”
Thistle took a step forward and held out her left arm. The boy did the same, clasping her wrist. He finally looked back at her.
“I am your Guide. Gunthor Imlack. May I die alongside you.”
They both cringed at the words. His features softened when she seemed just as uncomfortable with this new ‘partnership’ as he was.
“Uhh, come in, I guess,” she shrugged, tired of the stiff tradition.
Gunthor snorted and followed her through the gates, but not before she caught the man clenching his fists at their amusement.
The evening dragged on as everyone blessed the pair, wishing them a safe and fortuitous journey to the Springs. Thistle noticed Gunthor make frequent eye contact with a traveler in a yellow tunic, their hair a beautiful emerald green, long and flowing past their hips in the traditional Nortahl style. Their skin seemed to shimmer like the ocean.
“A friend of yours, the Nortahl with the green hair?”
“What’s it to you?”
Thistle flinched at his harsh tone. “I just...I wondered.”
“Means nothing now, does it? Life’s an endless pit of serving you.” his voice was heavy with loathing.
She swallowed hard. “I didn’t want this either. I had a life too. I just meant. If you wanted, she could come with us on the Rite.”
“They ain’t allowed on the Rite. They’re not a part of the company my father picked to come with us.”
She nodded at the corrected pronouns, “Apologies for the assumption.” After a moment, she tried again. “I’m the Seer, though, aren't I? Why can’t I demand that they come?”
A woman knelt before them, taking their hands.
Gunthor eyed Thistle with new regard. “You’d do that?”
She shrugged, “I honestly don’t give a shit who comes. It’s going to be horrible either way.”
“Aye. I’d be grateful to you.”
The woman’s grasp was stronger than it looked. Thistle looked down to see milky green eyes staring back, and the leather hands squeezed tighter. Thistle gulped as sweat broke over her skin, a pull deep in her gut. “Oh no.” She clamped her jaw shut as a vision burst into her mind, making her groan behind her teeth. She felt the hot liquid of sight coat her eyes in black ink as she looked out onto a burning field. The woman was there before her, but her face was contorted in a sickly grin, razor-sharp teeth yellowed and snarling. Her wrists gave way to giant clawed hands with gnarled fingers that dripped with blood. Thistle took a frightened step back, walking through her own body on the ground, dark blood pooling from her abdomen. A vision of Gunthor stumbled forward, dual swords in hand, his tunic soaked with more blood. The woman lunged at Thistle’s body but Gunthor intercepted. The ring of claws against metal sword sent a jitter up her spine.
In an instant she was back in the dining hall, kneeling on the ground and gasping. Fear and pain etched the woman’s features. “I can’t contain it,” she whispered, slinking away into the worried onlookers.
Gunthor pulled Thistle back into her chair rather gruffly. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“Looked painful.”
“That was worse than some,” she breathed heavily.
“Tell them we’re goin’ in for the night.”
“What?”
“You’re the Seer ain’t you?”
“Oh. Uh.” Thistle rose on wobbling legs. Gunthor grabbed her arm for support, but it only made her feel more off balance. She tried to tug away, but he mistook it for falling and gripped tighter. She had to lean awkwardly to the side as she spoke, “We are done for the evening. It’s a long journey to the Springs.” The crowd looked disappointed. “Of course...Enjoy yourselves, though,” she said hurriedly. At this, everyone looked extremely satisfied. She rolled her eyes and started towards the sleeping quarters. Gunthor followed, casting a glance at the green-haired Nortahl. As tired as she was, Thistle stopped and waved them over. They cast a startled glance towards Gunthor and then hurried forward.
“Thank you for your service,” they said politely with a head dip.
“Don’t bother, please. I’m demanding that you accompany us on the Rite. If you want.”
“That’s not a demand, then,” they pointed out.
Gunthor chuckled and grabbed their hands. “This is Lappka.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, really. I need to lie down, though.” She was starting to feel incredibly sick to her stomach.
“Yeah, let’s go,” Gunthor pulled them both down the hall before eventually slowing down. “Don’ actually know where I’m going.”
Thistle led the way until they found an empty sleeping quarter with two beds. She locked the door behind them and fell onto the closest one, tears streaming down her face.
Gunthor and Lappka looked awkwardly at each other and then the bed. Thistle couldn’t help but snicker through the tears.
“I just assumed, I guess.”
“We’ve never actually slept next to each other. It’ll be a nice change from sand and rocks.” Lappka said, voice soft and sultry.
Gunthor made a noise somewhere between a nervous laugh and a grunt, resulting in fits of laughter from Thistle and Lappka both.
Thistle fell asleep almost immediately, the sound of Lappka and Gunthor’s engrossed whispers a relief. Finally, no eyes were on her.
Another intriguing instalment Anna, excited for the next part! The quote that stuck with me was also - ‘You must stop planning for every future…’ So true!
"You must stop planning for every future before you know the one you are dealt. It’s stressful on the mind." this is so me! and yes it is stressful on the mind. so well written. loving the story. excited for part 3!