They paid quickly, with Cora’s mom, Aimee, smiling her thanks to her customers. Aron turned to make the short walk to their hovercraft, which was parked just outside of town.
Aimee secretly slipped Liz a sucker with a wink. She had noticed the little, dark-haired girl before and couldn’t resist giving her something to smile about. Liz self-consciously smiled at her and at Cora, who was sitting on the counter behind her mother.
She turned to follow Aron to their hovercraft, and once everything was loaded, she climbed inside, waiting for Aron to follow. When he didn’t enter, she turned and found him staring off with a blank look on his face.
“Aron?”
No response. Her damnable fear kicked in when she saw his hands quake with tension. “Aron?” her voice trembled.
“He’s close,” he said quietly. His eyes met hers, and she could read his terror clearly. Something was very wrong; she could feel it in her bones. “He knows. Liz,” his voice broke with emotion. “We’re being hunted.”
Her body trembled with adrenaline and horror. She frantically searched around them, her eyes scanning for the hunter Aron spoke of. Her throat was immediately parched, and she struggled to swallow the lump that was rapidly forming in her throat.
Unseen by her, Aron drew his sword standing ready to fight. The hunter was too close for them to escape or flee. It was inevitable. A confrontation would take place, and he could only pray that, if he was killed, that Liz would survive. She was so important, more so than even he could grasp. Her life was more precious than his, he knew that. And he was willing to fight for her, and if needed, die for her.
“Elizabeth, stay down. Don’t move.” She turned to Aron about to protest, when she saw the hunter. The dark figure, no more than a few feet away from them, stood in shadow created by his cloak. His face was masked, all but his mouth, which was upturned in a malicious smile. He stood tall, towering over Aron, as the hunter slowly took steps toward the hovercraft.
He wore the sign of a hunter, a black cloak with the symbol of Nero resting on the chest – a silver and red triangle, three corners representing the kinship of the three strong dune planets, Nero, Juniper, and Dagan. These three dune planets cared nothing for Cantu, the weak, smallest planet in the Rylan system. Only the strongest survived in their heartless affiliation. The walked with a purpose, like a predator stalking his prey, and Liz unconsciously cowered in her seat. Evil emitted from his very being.
His voice was low, harsh, riddled with malice. He continued his quest, as Aron turned to face his opponent. “I saw you in the market, prophet,” his last word spoken harshly, as if merely saying the word brought him injury. He drew his sword, and the metal glittered from the suns’ rays. The sand sparkled, the heat waves emitted from the ground, the sticky, humid air clung to Liz’s skin. But all she could see was the hunter’s mouth. His teeth were black and gray, and his evil grin sent shivers down her spine. “Are you prepared to die?”
There were only a few second of silence, as the two wordlessly faced off. Then the swords met in fury. Liz slumped in her seat, her knees drawn up to her chest, her eyes closed tightly. She couldn’t bear to witness the battle, knowing that hunters were expertly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and that Aron hadn’t fought in years.
She was mentally willing the battle to be over. The clanging of bladed and colliding of metal resounded for what seemed like hours, an eternity even but she couldn’t bring herself to look.
It was her fault the hunter found them. She should never have told Cora. She had been careless and unknowingly put Aron’s life at risk. Now they were sure to die because of her.
She rocked in her seat and clumsily brought her tiny hands to cover her ears. Fright and dread raced through her veins, and she prepared herself for her death. Sobs escaped her tight throat and parched mouth.
Regrets ran through her mind. Liz had always wanted to see Aevar – its beauty. She had read books of the trees, and flowers, and birds. She wanted to swim in the blue waters of Sunila Lake by the palace. She wanted to feel Aevarian silk on her fingers. She wanted to hear the songs of the exotic birds that only lived in the Aevarian forests. Tears streamed down her face as she mourned the life she was never going to have. And the world that she would be letting down.
Aevar would parish because she had told their secret. She had been so selfish …
A hand clasped her on the shoulder, and she shrieked, trying to climb away. The hands held fast, and her fists punched and beat the body in front of her, keeping her eyes closed. She couldn’t see his smile again, the gray teeth or the spiteful smile. Behind her eyes, she was laughing and swimming in the crystal blue lake on Aevar, not on the dune planet about to die a horrible death.
Sobs escaped her as she pleaded with the hunter, “Please, no! I don’t want to die! No, please don’t hurt me, please! No …” Her sobs were near uncontrollable, her body tensing in anticipation of the blow that she was sure was to come, that would end her life.
“Liz …” his soft voice penetrated her haze of regret. She slowly stilled, stopping her tiny fists from impaling the chest in front of her. Surely her mind wouldn’t be so cruel as to conjure up his voice in place of the hunters. Aron must be dead, she knew it.
Her chin quivered, and her hair was in disarray from the ordeal. Strands blew across her face as she summoned the courage to open her eyes. Unhurriedly they pried open, and she half expected to see the hunter and his rotting teeth mocking her in an evil grin.
She was only met with the loving, tearful eyes of Aron as he embraced her. It was the first and only time Liz had ever seen him cry, and the only time Liz ever cried in front of him. But they wept together that day, clinging to each other, seeking comfort in each other’s arms.
He stroked her hair and whispered reassuring words into her ear, silently thanking Fate for their lives. She clung to him, her fists clutching his robe in a desperate attempt to keep him and his never-ending comfort near. After several minutes Liz drew back.
She saw the blood splattered across his tanned skin.
She saw the small gash on his left cheek.
She saw the sand sticking to his sweat-ridden clothing.
Even with the battle wounds, they were still alive and she couldn’t help but be relieved that the hunter was dead. Her breath remained erratic as she desperately tried to calm down. The adrenaline that was just moments ago running freely through her veins was now tempering off, leaving her sated, exhausted, lethargic. She needed confirmation that the hunter was dead; just to see Aron before her wasn’t enough. Liz’s mind would never be able to rest peaceful without closure. Slowly, she turned to her right.
She saw the headless body of the hunter lying in the sand.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Aron stood in the doorway, the candlelight softly flickering his shadow against her wall. He stood guard, watching her as she slept, marveling at the power in the petite, young girl that slept before him. He sipped his tea and thought to himself.
He had still so much to tell her, so much to teach her. But he knew that the appropriate time would come. He knew he must wait for Fate to guide him. It did not matter how he desired to reveal the truth of her Destiny. He was a father, a teacher, but above all he was a servant. And so he waited and prayed that every decision he made was the correct one.
Elizabeth had always been so strong and yet unsure in her capabilities. He knew she was afraid of Destiny and what it would mean fore her. It did not help that the prophecy given to him had been ambiguous and vague. However, Fate had yet to forget him, and so he held fast to his faith, and lingered further in his state of limbo.
Today had been an important day, and it was no wonder she was exhausted. He had half expected her to fight sleep tonight, knowing that the soft voices would likely keep her awake, if not drive her near crazy. But after their dinner, her energy proved low and she had retired to her room early for the remainder of the evening. He knew that the presence of the Duscha would be calming and soothing, but with Elizabeth’s stubborn tendencies, he would not have been surprised to see her fight exhaustion and his recommendation to rest.
He sighed heavily in the dark doorway, turning to the living area. He was in unfamiliar territory, he knew. Few were still alive to tell of the success of the first oracle, and to talk of the second was taboo. So he had received little preparation for his task, and had become accustomed to the spontaneous.
Aron hated withholding information from Liz. She was an oracle and deserved to know all the information he had, but this was not his prophecy to control. He was merely a servant, dutifully carrying out a mission, and could only hope that all turned out well in the end.
He had to be very careful with what he said; saying too much could lead to disastrous effects. So much was at stake, even their lives. He still was unsure how the hunter had found them four years ago. His training was tested to the brink, the hunter had been artfully skilled and if it had been any other circumstances, he would have complimented his opponent on skill and technique.
He had killed that day, not for the first time, and certainly not the last. But the event was always fresh in his mind, the sounds and sights extremely clear. The fear he had seen in Elizabeth’s eyes was all too real and he knew it had been mirrored in his own.
He shook his head, willing the images away. He wanted nothing of ill memories tonight.
Today had been a good day, so much accomplished. But with each new discovery came more questions, fewer answers, and much more to hide. With the one incident four years ago aside, Cantu had been an extremely safe haven for them.
Aron reclined slightly in his chair, the steam from his tea and smoke from his pipe mingled in the candlelit air. All was quiet, except for the deafening commotion in his own head. Questions and insecurities plagued him now that Elizabeth had been awakened. For so long, his primary goal was to prepare her. Then, for the past year, unknown to her, he had cautiously started her ascension with small tasks that he knew would open her mind and prepare a place for the Duscha to reside.
Now that she was bonded with the Duscha, his next step was unclear. He was sure that she needed to enhance her powers, strengthen her concentration. That had always been his role – the mentor, teacher, guide.
But now with Elizabeth’s awakening came uncertainty. He didn’t know how to discover her power, how to strengthen them, he didn’t know how to do anything when it came to the Duscha. Few alive did, and the monk that he had spoken to month’s before Elizabeth’s birth could only give vague descriptions. The only awakening that had happened in this galaxy, in this generation’s lifetime, had been a forced, failed attempt. And of the scattered few that still had faith, even fewer believed in prophecies.
Cyrus had ruined so much with his treachery. But Aron kept his resolve with a heavy sigh and a deep drag from his pipe. Fate would not abandon Aevar, he knew. Nor would Fate abandon them. Elizabeth was much more special than anyone realized.
Her whole life had been filled with secrets and hiding. But Aron had his secrets too. He knew how important she was. No one knew of the prophecy given to him. The people in the Rylan system had always assumed he left to pursue enlightenment. And while many had laughed at the irony and danger he put himself in, few questioned his decision. For every one person that accepted him as a figurehead, there were five that wished for his death, and even more that didn’t care one way or the other.
He had always been a friend of Eamon’s, even as children. But when Cyrus had forced Shaun’s awakening, Aron had feared that the death of all prophets would be ordered. After all, the brother of the King had been killed, a member of the royal family nonetheless, and retribution was expected.
But Eamon’s father had done no such thing. He saw the death for what it was – a murder at the hands of a madman.
The King had refused, much to the dismay of the people, to pursue the followers as a whole, punishing all for one man’s deceit. And much to Aron’s surprise, the King had given Eamon permission to promote Aron as chief advisor, an unspoken declaration of acceptance of followers.
Seeing his good friend in mourning for his uncle’s death had been difficult, and Aron aided Eamon all he could. But Aron was keener than Eamon, and knew that the people’s acceptance of a follower was thin. So, while he advised Eamon through their adolescence and eventually Eamon’s integration to King, Aron was careful to always advice on the people’s wishes and complaints. Hence Aron’s popularity grew.
After most had lost their faith, Aron was careful to never become too controversial. His ideals and opinions he lectured on where ambiguous and adhered to socially accepted guidelines, and soon most forgot his role as a prophet and saw him merely as a royal figure. He kept his personal, controversial beliefs secret. He never told anyone his belief of the second, doomed oracle’s role.
He never told anyone that only he had seen the insufficient evidence that Shaun was the second oracle. Even though he had been a young prophet and relatively new to the teachings, he had seen the holes and deficient proof given by Cyrus before the committee.
