Deadly Fate [Book 1 of the Teadai Prophecies] Read online

  Deadly Fate

  Book 1 of the Teadai Prophecies

  by

  Dana Davis

  Copyright 2009 by Dana Davis

  All Rights Reserved

  Published by SynergEbooks

  http://www.synergebooks.com

  Teadai Prophecies Trilogy

  Deadly Fate: Book One of the Teadai Prophecies

  Sage Truth: Book Two of the Teadai Prophecies

  City of Gods: Book Three of the Teadai Prophecies

  Also by Dana Davis:

  Breach of Worlds

  For Darryl

  Gypsy, noun:

  one who goes from place to place;

  nomadic;

  itinerate;

  plural, Gypsies

  Chapter 1

  In the days of turmoil and disrespect, the Goddess shall summon her children home and the Vedi will be named. ~ Transcribed by Elder-Gypsy Siri Nebarin from the Teadai Prophesies, section II of The Book of the Goddess, Scroll of New Beginning, shelf VII, archive IX.

  Makrilon bustled with people from all over Cragrilon Prefecture as the city hosted its harvest celebrations, allowing Haranda cover to move about without suspicion. She feigned searching for a runaway, which got her admission into any establishment in Makrilon. She had ducked in and out of places in what seemed an endless hunt for a girl whose name she didn’t know, but she could sense the familiar presence of a youngling, a female. The girl’s essence tapped against her senses in the erratic fashion of younglings, and this one was close to harnessing the Goddess Energy. Haranda had exactly two days until the harvest moon shone full. Two days to find this girl, get out of this city, and herd her new gaggle of younglings toward home before someone discovered them. An image she had fought so hard to forget filled her mind and she pushed down sorrow as she vowed to the Goddess she wouldn’t lose another.

  Haranda set her jaw in determination against her grief. She weaved in and out of crowds and pinched her nose as various and sundry smells assaulted her from alleyways and passing horses. A man retched in front of her and she averted her eyes as she hastened past the mess on the sidewalk.

  Goddess, please let me find this last youngling and get out of this bloody city in one piece. Her nerves were frayed and an ache had formed behind her temples.

  Boisterous laughter and applause came from onlookers who watched a juggler and an acrobat, middlings all, ignorant of that which flooded Haranda’s senses. The Goddess Energy. Like a second skin, comforting yet invigorating, imbued with power that frightened many who didn’t understand its potential. But something dangerous invaded the Energy and pricked at her like a hundred thorns. Something enormous was happening, something to do with the Prophecies.

  It took all her reserve not to flee this place and head straight for a life circle that would lead her home to the Land of the Goddess. A summons hadn’t happened for centuries, longer even, and that need pulled at her through the Energy with a strength bordering on pain. But she had to wait a little longer. Just a while longer. With regret, she pressed those needs down and focused on her task again.

  Her Energy awareness wasn’t potent enough at this distance to give her the exact location of those she sought, only the vicinity, which could encompass an entire town and a slew of bodies. So many emitted heat against her senses that she broke a sweat in her attempts to sift through the throng. Only when she was close to the youngling would her awareness reveal more. Soon, not more than a few sunrises from now, the calling would be upon this girl, and she would be a threat, even to herself.

  And Haranda needed to get back to the others, those she had rescued from their middling homes and hidden away outside the city. For some reason, the Goddess had decided all her rescues thus far would be female, and she’d been saddled with several young women. Three highborn girls who thought the sun shone for them alone, and one who preferred men’s breeches to skirts and had a mouth like a drunken sailor.

  She shook her head as she walked on, keeping to the shadows when she could, and wishing her kin could have accompanied her. But there were so many younglings to locate and too few Gypsies to wrangle them all. Everyone had a task and Haranda’s was here in Makrilon, a bawdy city in the same Prefecture where she’d been born. Thankfully, not the same city.

  Her head ached and she fought to keep her composure when two middlings stepped from the alley and flanked her. Not now, idiot boys. She held the Energy, preparing to use it only as a final option. This wasn’t the place to let anyone know she was a Gypsy. Not if she preferred her limbs still attached to her body. She fought a shudder and pushed away an awful memory.

  A boy barely into adolescence drew close. “How’s about a little roll in the hay, pretty woman?” His breath smelled of wine. His friend made an agreeable comment. Despite their youth, they were almost as tall as Haranda. The first one snagged her cloak and tried to pull her into the alley.

  She planted her feet, using the strength of the Energy to hold her place. The boy seemed confused as to why he couldn’t topple her. Drunk as he was, she hoped he wouldn’t remember much in the morning.

  Forcing her voice low, she leaned toward his ear. “If you don’t release me, I’ll scream for a guard.” Festival nights were the only occasions women could safely walk the streets of Makrilon after dark. The only time the city put extra guards on the streets. Merchants here made a lot of money at festival, and the city collected a good amount of taxes. The sun had set and the waxing moon shone overhead, threatening to grow to full pregnancy by tomorrow night.

  The boy laughed and tried to pull her into the alley again. She shifted her weight, twisted her arm out of his grasp, grabbed him by his soiled collar and flung him into the wall. He bounced off with a cry and stumbled before righting himself again, cradling his arm. At the very least, she had bruised it, but he wouldn’t feel the full effects until his drink wore off. His friend started toward her but she had her belt knife out before he could take three steps. Her two assailants seemed to sober up quickly. They also decided she was too much trouble and hurried off in one direction, only to see a guard coming their way. They backpedaled and sprinted down the next alley.

  Another delay. Haranda cursed under her breath and sheathed the knife. As she willed her nerves to quiet and her hands to stop trembling, she smoothed her cloak and pulled her hood into place. From the position of the moon, she guessed Mistress Lane would soon be preparing night meal. At middle night, she would send the girls to the Flindering farm alone.

  Most likely, Eletha would have no trouble making the trip. But the rest were young and pampered. I can’t let them go alone. And I can’t leave this youngling here. Goddess, curse these superstitious middlings.

  She let her awareness guide her again, grateful she hadn’t needed to use her Energy on those boys, and uttered a relieved, “Thank you,” to the Goddess for that one. She added a silent thank you to her Gypsy kin, who had taught her to defend herself, something her root parents never would have done.

  Not all middlings were against Gypsies, but Makrilonians were a bloody superstitious lot, even more so than their Agnarian cousins. In this city, suspicious outsiders got blamed for bad luck quicker than a hawk could snare a rabbit, and a Gypsy may as well have a target drawn on her back. The horrifying image she’d worked so desperately to bury emerged again and she almost stumbled. Rage and grief threatened the placidity she’d taken from the Goddess Energy. Even after a year, this city still held her emotions captive. Grief could wait, had to wait. Vindication would come but she needed to hurry. Others like her were out gathering younglings. Many already headed to the Land of the Goddess, some she hadn’t seen for a long while, b
ut like her grief, they must wait.

  She walked on, annoyed that drunken men and boys had pawed her all evening. She didn’t dare use her Energy except to save her life or that of her youngling. Not here. Not tonight. She gave a nervous glance at the waxing moon and quickened her steps. Where in the blazes was the girl? She was near, probably within three or four buildings. Haranda had already scoured the rest of the city. If only her Energy were more exact. If only she could locate new younglings before she was on top of them. If only....

  No use wishing for what cannot be, Gypsy Haranda Banwidden, she chided herself in the manner of her former clan mother.

  She held the Energy within, as aware of the blood rushing through her veins as she was the middlings who bustled about the streets. Animals roamed through the crowds but they were easy to distinguish, wild, and not as hot to her senses. Somewhere nearby, the faint tickle of a youngling teased her through the Energy, but where?

  Onward she strode, down the torch-lighted streets, peeking in alleyways and behind wagons, a sluggish process that kept her on knife-edge. The moon gave additional light but that was its only comfort. Haranda felt the chilled, night air as a distant nuisance through the Energy, but she didn’t wish to be noticed so she pulled her cloak tighter to keep her face hidden.

  As she rounded another corner, she felt the definite presence of a youngling vibrate against her senses, fluctuating but strong. Finally!

  She entered Wandering Hog, her ninth tavern today, careful to appear as a young farmwoman in search of a runaway, nothing more. The familiar smell of cooking food mixed with sour wine and unwashed bodies assaulted her nose, along with the acrid scent of animal dung. She’d been in so many taverns of late, the smell no longer made her want to retch. Piglets scampered here and there underfoot, and she nearly tripped as one darted in front of her and disappeared beneath a table.

  A large man eyed her and whispered to a stout woman. Haranda prepared to defend herself with the Energy, if need be. She would have to be discreet. Even the strongest Gypsy couldn’t protect herself against a mob. Her heart banged against her ribs like a smithy’s hammer. She gave the large man an innocent smile as he strode toward her then moved a discreet hand to the purse that hung at her waist belt. How many had she bribed tonight? She had lost count.

  “You don’t belong here, Mistress,” the man said in a heavy voice. Large, strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm. She wasn’t short, yet this man towered over her. His breath smelled of ale but he had his senses.

  This put Haranda more on her guard. It was one thing to deal with drunkards, but a sober man wouldn’t be as easily deceived.

  “Mistress, you should be in the streets fawnin’ over the acrobats and vendors. Why are you in a tavern?”

  If he suspected her Gypsy ties, she would have to find her youngling and get out of the city before they were torn apart. She prepared to use the urging on this man, her strongest aspect of the Energy. Since he wasn’t much beyond thirty and looked in good health, heart failure might seem suspicious if she killed him that way, but if threatened, she might not have a choice. Urging had gotten her out of many a mess but she was tired now, bordering exhaustion, and needed to save herself for the girl.

  Please Goddess, let him believe me. She spouted a variation on the rehearsed lines Gypsies used in Makrilon. The same drivel she’d been spouting all evening. Along with the accent those who lived in this area were used to hearing. “My dear mother sent me, Master.” She offered a doe-eyed, frightful look as she leaned toward him and he lowered his ear to her lips. “My sister ran away. I must find her and bring her home. I heard on the streets girls often get work in the taverns. I’ve been searchin’ all evenin’.” She silently invoked the Goddess again and begged that this man not cause her any trouble.

  His dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t you have a brother?”

  “No, Master, and I’m the eldest. It’s my duty to find my sister. Mother’s beyond herself with worry.” Haranda feigned anger as she discreetly put a copper coin in the man’s large hand. “The stupid girl is needed for chores too, as Mother is up in years. My sister always prattles on about adventures and is foolish to believe women can go off alone.”

  The man released her arm and chuckled. “If she’s here, she’ll learn there’s no adventure beyond toil for runaways in Makrilon, especially women.”

  “Yes, Master. It’s getting’ late. Please, I should keep up my search.”

  He tucked the coin into his belt purse and stepped aside to let her pass. “Tell your mother to give her a right good beatin’.”

  “I will, Master.”

  A tavern wench flew by and he chased her up the stairs, both laughing the entire way.

  Haranda let out a relieved breath that she didn’t have to waste her urging talents on him, but she held the Energy inside. The youngling was close, somewhere amid the numerous bodies that mingled here and there.

  Before she took three steps, another man approached her. This one, obviously drunk out of his mind, brushed against her and tried his best to capture her around the waist. Haranda tucked her purse into her waist belt, grunted, and gave him a shove. This was growing old, but she couldn’t give these middlings reason to suspect her Gypsy ties, so she went along with the tiresome game.

  The drunk teetered and fell into another man, who pushed him into a table. He then wobbled and nearly toppled over before regaining his balance, somewhat. “Hullo, sweet,” he slurred, as he staggered toward Haranda again. “How ‘bout a kiss?”

  Laughter came from several tables.

  Her eyes gave Wandering Hog a once-over. All of the establishments began to look alike, and Makrilon was never short on places to drink and make merry. She suspected the youngling was in the kitchen, as the flickering seemed to be strongest when she focused in that direction. Eyes settled on her, waiting to see what she, an obvious farm girl from her clothing, would do.

  “Certainly.” She smirked and tried not to gag on his reeking breath. “But you must close your eyes.”

  The drunk leaned close with lips puckered and eyes shut. He swayed. She captured one of the piglets from the floor, held it up to the inebriated man’s lips, and suppressed a chuckle as he made sucking noises. She quickly put the piglet down as the uproar of laughter began all around her. Animal urging wasn’t among her talents so she was glad the piglet didn’t squeal. Although this man was so inebriated, he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

  “Now, that’s a kiss,” he announced. One arm swung wide and he fell into a table, promptly knocking himself out. Two large men lifted him under the arms and dragged him toward the door. An unconscious man couldn’t drink and couldn’t pay. She suspected he’d find himself facedown in a trough very soon.

  Laughter continued and several gave Haranda approving nods. The ruse worked. For now. She gave a shy smile back, adjusted her cloak, and pressed through the crowd toward the kitchen. The familiar tickling heat of a youngling grew stronger and she made her excuses to the mistress.

  The heavyset woman took her in with one long look and planted her hands on thickly padded hips, as gray strands of hair protruded from beneath a headscarf. “I won’t tolerate runaways in my tavern.” With that, she stepped aside to allow Haranda to pass.

  She nodded and murmured, “Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.” She then took the opportunity to touch each worker.

  The Energy worked quicker that way, for her at least, and she couldn’t afford to dawdle. She lifted chins, turned women and girls by the shoulders, and took a brief grip of numerous arms, though she didn’t need to see the faces. Touch alone would reveal a youngling to her senses. But Haranda must appear as a middling farmwoman. Nothing more.

  Weariness took its toll on her from holding the Energy so long today, and frustration began to settle in her gut when she didn’t locate the youngling among these wenches. Until she saw a girl, a young woman, possibly in her early or middle twenties, scrubbing a pot at the far tub. Haranda made her way there, an
d upon taking the girl’s arm, the strong scent of flowers filled her nostrils. Her mind felt giddy until she erected an Energy wall in her mind to block the girl’s unruly essence.

  This youngling is going to be bloody strong! Haranda’s gaze lingered on the disheveled hair and clothes of a tavern wench as frightened hazel eyes stared back at her.

  “I see you found her.” The mistress startled them both with her announcement. She clicked her tongue. “I should’ve known. That one’s new here, four days.” One floured hand gripped the youngling’s arm and shook her. “I knew there was somethin’ strange about you. Bet you lied about workin’ that tavern in Agnar too. Didn’t you, Saldia Trich? If that’s even your real name.”

  “No—”

  Haranda immediately clamped down on the youngling. Keep quiet, she sent mentally along a strand of urging Energy. The command worked, as it always did, and Saldia shut her mouth.

  The tavern mistress couldn’t have suspected anything. This girl hadn’t been through the calling and couldn’t yet harness the Energy, but talk of anything odd fueled suspicion in this place, especially this close to the harvest full moon. Haranda prepared to switch her Energy from the girl to the mistress, should the woman decide to have the youngling beaten for deceit. Like with the man she’d encountered on her entrance to this tavern, she contemplated the worst.

  The tavern mistress was old enough for heart failure, though. One warm, yellow Energy spark directed straight into the heart would be sufficient, and no one, not even this youngling, would know what Haranda had done. That type of killing was quick, little suffering for the victim, and wouldn’t take much strength on her part.

  Though the thought of taking a life soured her stomach, her first duty was to the Goddess and her kin. Saldia needed her, even if the girl didn’t realize it yet. She would probably have to use her urging Energy on the girl just to get them both safely out of the city. And I’m so bloody tired.