The Last Prophecy
by Jackie Callin

The king paced.
	I remained kneeling with the other servants, our heads bowed, as befit our station. Yet my eyes followed his every movement. The troubled look of his countenance, a look I had never seen in all my years of service to the king, beginning even before his ascension to the throne, emblazoned itself upon my mind. 
	It was worrisome, but understandable. Too many things had come against the king as of late. First, that thrice-damned Prophet of the One, Jamiel, who had anointed the king to his throne in the first place, began to speak against him. Rumors swirled of another who would come, one not of the king’s family, to replace him. The king had spent countless nights, sleepless and fearful; so much so, in fact, that it seemed he might lose his mind. He spoke with unseen beings, fought with them, and cried out against them. So much so, in fact, that all those in the kingdom searched for someone to soothe the malady; but we, none of us, guessed that the teenaged harpist-boy we brought back to the new-built Palace might in fact be the would-be usurper, anointed by none other than the Prophet himself.
	Oh, how the king grieved when it was brought to his attention that the boy who had become like one of the king’s own sons would seek to overthrow him. I myself had not wanted to believe, as the boy had proven his loyalty again and again, nearly getting himself killed in service of our king; but why else would he run? Why else would our king spend so many years, searching, so that he might eliminate the threat to his, and his eldest son’s, throne?
	Of course, in spending so much time in hunting the boy, the king had let some vital duties go unattended. Our borderlands had been left undefended for too long. 
	Bringing us to our present crisis. 
Our neighbors, the violent and repulsive regime of Lystra, had taken advantage of our king’s distraction. News of their invasion reached us, both court and army, while we were yet again seeking after the usurper, and at the same time as one other piece of news—Jamiel had died. While the king may have rejoiced about that last, the rest of the kingdom mourned, even as it prepared to fight.
Now, on the eve of the battle, the king paced and I saw something that I never expected to see lodging in the king’s once-handsome face. 
Fear.
I did not understand it. His being troubled, thanks to our needing to break away from the important task of finding and executing the would-be usurper, was understandable. But why should he be afraid? Yes, Lystra’s forces were impressive; five- to-one odds in the enemy’s favor is never comforting.
But the swords were oiled. Armor collected and inspected. Spears sharpened. Bows tested and arrows gathered. The army’s men were trained, tested, and seasoned. The king, too, had made all the necessary sacrifices a seven-sun ago. Surely, the One we all worshipped had visited the king’s dreams and shown him what to do, what direction the battle would take. It had been thus so, ever since the One’s Prophet had anointed him.
Therefore, none of us were expecting the king’s mutter. “Why am I not given an answer?!”
Not given… My eyebrows rose. My breath caught. Could the king mean what I thought? What I now feared? 
Next to me, the youngest and boldest of the servants spoke. “Majesty?”
He whirled. Dark eyes blazed. Even I, despite my long standing with the king, would have quailed. If not at the expression he wore, then certainly at the coldness in his voice. “What is it, Phineas?”
“Forgive me, majesty,” Phineas said before daring to raise his head. “But what you spoke…”
I glanced his way. My fellow servant wore the look of gravest fear. Was it, I wondered, due to our king’s words, or because Phineas worried he had provoked the king’s temper?
Perhaps it was as the king seemed to think—a combination of both. The royal face lost some of its ferocity. A sigh followed; then, again, the king’s mouth opened.
“As I have need for your services—and yours, Adlai,” he said with a swift incline of his head towards me. “You shall know. The rest of you do not have this privilege.”
There could be no mistaking the dismissal and the others scurried out of the royal tent. I waited, as did Phineas, for our king’s command.
“You heard me speak,” the king said after a moment. “I tell you now, I spoke the truth. The One has not answered me. He has not spoken through my dreams, nor the dreams of anyone else. I had instructed my sons to listen for such things, as it is not just my life that could be lost tomorrow.” He let loose a wearied breath. “But there has been nothing, since Jamiel’s death.” Another breath was released. “Therefore, I wish the two of you to go. Find me a woman, who is known to be familiar with spirits. I will inquire of her what is to be done.”
The breath froze within my lungs. My eyes widened. Surely, I heard wrong. Such things were forbidden. The king himself had, at the beginning of his reign, ordered the removal of all those who consorted with spirits, beings, and entities of every type.
Yet we had no choice. We had been commanded by our king. 
Phineas, at least, appeared to have little concern with the order. I wondered why, even as he asked, “You are certain of this course, majesty?”
“I am.” No hesitation colored the king’s voice, nor did he voice any displeasure he might have felt for Phineas’ questioning of him. 
Slowly, my fellow-servant nodded and I eyed him. He wore the most peculiar expression, lids half-closed over strangely blue eyes, lips pursed, wide brow furrowed with thought. 
When he next spoke, it was with the air of having made a decision. The words were ones I’d never expected to hear, not even from Phineas. “I know of just such a woman.”
He what? I looked, askance, at him. The king, too, trained all his attention on Phineas, though more out of eagerness than disbelief.
“Where is she?” he demanded. “Speak!”
“She resides in one of the caves in the mountains of Moreh.” 
Immediately, the king turned to me. “Gather together some clothing—not the raiment of royalty, but travelers’ clothes. Merchant class, at best.” His head snapped back to Phineas. “You will lead the three of us to her tonight. We leave as soon as we change.”
Instinct and habit made me obey more than any real desire. Should the woman Phineas spoke of prove a charlatan, we would have wasted time that could have been better spent in creating a plan to defeat Lystra’s forces; if she proved real enough, then we would have exposed ourselves to the very powers the One had warned our forefathers not to deal with.
Locating the simpler clothing the king had requested led me, after searching through every royal chest, to my own, more limited wardrobe. Granted, the king was possessed of a greater height; and I’ll admit my royal master had never been the same weight. Still, the largest of my robes should fit.
It took only minutes for the king to shed his splendid robes of crimson, purple, gold and silver. He took the clothing I handed him without complaint, even the tattered, hooded cloak Phineas gave to him, to further his disguise. 
We traveled a good portion of the night. The mountains of Moreh were but seven miles from camp, hardly a journey when traveling by mule; but the mountain passes were treacherous enough by day. By night, being guided only faint moonlight? 
Phineas, however, seemed unconcerned by the danger. Indeed, it appeared he knew exactly where he was leading us.
How that could be possible, I cannot say, as he refused to answer the questions put him to him, by myself and even the king. I suppose, in the end, it does not matter; what matters is that, at last, we stood in front of a weathered wooden door, set in what appeared to be the mouth of a cave. We dismounted and, as I tied up the animals, Phineas tapped the door in three different sections.
Slowly, the door opened. I know not what I expected, but the young-looking woman was not it. She blinked her large, violet-tinged eyes at us, reminding me of a startled doe in the field. We had obviously disturbed her night’s rest, as she wore only a patchworked shift and her long, curly black hair that contained not even a strand of gray wore no veil or other head covering. 
Her voice, however, did not match her appearance. It sounded old, far older then it should have been, and trembled not unlike an old woman’s. “Who is that would disturb a person at this hour of the night?”
“Friends, lady,” Phineas said. “Friends who would seek your help.”
For a long moment, she considered his answer before moving back and beckoning us inside. I had no desire to cross her threshold. Blackness swirled behind the woman, and a chill that had nothing to do with the mountains’ cool night air rained ice down my spine. 
Yet the king’s eagerness could do not be denied, and I found myself propelled forward. 
Inside proved a strange contradiction to what my fears and feelings had led me to believe. Lit by no less than five torches, all mounted on the rough-hewn stone walls by heavy iron cages, the cavernous main area appeared inviting, even cozy. The décor was sparse, true, being made up of little more than a hand-woven rug and cushions; but livable. Appealing, too, even for one who had grown used to silks, satins, and fine linen. 
So why did I still feel the chill of one who’d wandered into danger?
The chill intensified when the king made known his cause. “I beg of you, lady, to do me this favor. Make use of the familiar spirit, and bring up the one I wish to speak to.”
A sharp intake of air heralded the woman’s protest. “Sir! How can you ask such a thing of me! You know what the king has done to all those who claim a familiar spirit! You know that even the lowest of the wizards have been forced into exile, lest they suffer execution.”
“Nothing of that nature will befall you,” Phineas tried to soothe her.
She looked at him with suspicion. “And how do I know that? How do I know that this is not a trap, laid out by my enemies to cause my death?”
“I promise you, lady,” the king said, “that as long as the One reigns, no such punishment will come upon you for this act.”
I do not know what it was—the king’s obvious sincerity or the sudden warming of the chilled air—but at last the woman nodded. “Very well, then. I shall do as you have asked.” She took in a deep breath. Held it, then released. “Who is it that I shall bring up for you?”
“Jamiel.” The king’s relief echoed through the room. “I wish to speak to the Prophet Jamiel.”
The briefest look of surprise crossed her face. Perhaps she had not heard of the Prophet’s passing; still, she closed her eyes and bowed her head.
 Phineas spoke to us in a low voice when we looked to him for an explanation. “She is preparing herself to receive the spirit. Do not be alarmed—”
A loud shriek interrupted him. The three of us whipped towards the woman. Phineas blinked. “That’s… unusual.”
“What do you mean, unusual?” the king said, eyes fixated on him.
“I—I mean, usually, she falls into a trance.” Phineas ducked his head at the incredulity that met him. “The spirit will take possession of her body and speak to us through her. This—”
The woman shrieked again, cutting him off, before pointing at our royal master. “You! Why have you lied to me?”
He stared at her before managing to say, “I have—”
“Do not say that you have not, for you are the king!”
	Silence, born out of shock, descended. The king stared at her, while a dreadful feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.
At last, he nodded and removed the hood of the cloak from his face. “I am, indeed, the king. Be not afraid, madam. I spoke true to you before, and no harm will come to you for this.” He swallowed. “Now, what did you see?”
But, even as he spoke, the atmosphere within the room thickened. A grayish mist began to swirl about our feet. Out of the corner of my left eye, I thought I saw something, taking shape by the corner of the farthest wall. 
The woman babbled. “I saw… I saw the gods ascending up, out of the earth. They gave escort to one not like them, who gave way your true being.”
“What is he like?” The king took a step forward. “What form is this one?”
“A man,” the woman answered. “An old man, with his gray head covered with the blue mantle of the One’s Prophets…” She looked and her eyes alighted beyond us. “There.” A finger pointed, and I caught my breath at it. It proved bent and crooked, the skin withered, spotted, and dried up. “There!”
We turned our heads back to the wall. I sucked in a breath. Phineas stumbled backwards. 
The mist had become as a doorway, shining with ethereal light. A muscular man, though thin and nowhere near the height of the king or even myself or Phineas, with a graying head of thick hair covered by a familiar mantle of blue, stepped through. There could no mistaking him, despite his transparency.
Jamiel.
As soon as he, too, saw, the king fell with his face to the ground, bowing himself. The Prophet’s eyes smoldered. “Why have you disturbed my rest, to bring me up?”
I shivered at the sound of that voice. It was, without doubt, Jamiel’s; but the low tones, the strange echoing nature… It terrified me. Phineas, too, for that matter, as I discovered when I glanced his way and found him cowering away from the apparition.
“I am very much afraid, Jamiel,” the king said. “Our enemy of Lystra would war with us, and the One refuses to answer me, either by dream or by prophet. Please, I beg of you, tell me what I should do.”
Jamiel’s brow furrowed. “Why do you ask me, if the One has departed from you, to become your enemy? It is done, as was spoken—because of your disobedience, even your open defiance, your kingdom is taken from you and given to the one you have pursued.”
“But the battle!” The king’s head shot up and his voice rose. “What of—”
“Moreover,” Jamiel interrupted, “you and your kingdom both will be given into Lystra’s hands. By this time tomorrow, you and all your sons will be with me.”
My face paled. Phineas trembled. The king fell, terrified, to lie upon the hard-packed ground. Even the woman covered her face, shaking in fear. 
When next we gathered our courage to look back at the spirit of the Prophet, we found him gone. Dissipated. Even the mist and doorway had vanished.
***********
	And so it came to pass, just as the deceased Prophet spoke. Shortly after descending out of the mountains of Moreh, the warriors of Lystra fell upon us. Our warriors fought valiant and hard, but defeat proved certain. All of the king’s sons were killed during the battle, and the king himself wounded so severely that he should have been taken, if he had not fallen on his own sword. Phineas, too, was felled while acting as shield-bearer for the king’s eldest son.
	Only I, of all the king’s servants, would escape. Only I would live to witness the ascension of the one Jamiel’s spirit had spoken of. Only I would see the crown being placed upon the curly head of the young man my former master had pursued. Only I would hear him be presented to the masses as king.