The Last Salem Witch

War Council

Chapter 3

Diana and the other help enlisted for the conversion of the Throne Hall did a very good job in turning the entirety of the place to a proper meeting room for a war council. While the Masters of the Houses arranged their men to send news home, the adept faeries and mason Orcs summoned and carved massive blocks of stone to seat at least ten people.

Delegates from the Children of Light even had the foresight to serve food! Suddenly, I feel, once again after a couple centuries, as if I never had the qualifications to be queen of all magical people. And from what? Because I didn't think to put out refreshments? How pathetic.

"Ella? What's wrong? What do you need?"

Xaero sits beside me, to the seat on my immediate right. His face doesn't show any of it but I know he worries. Worried and... scared. The weight on my chest grows heavier.

"I'm fine," I said. "But can you send me someone to the Hold? Ask them to pull anything that may allude to or mention the Fallen. And did you verify Avery's intel?"

His heavy sigh is enough confirmation. Rough lines deepens on his face. "I'll get someone to put on your task as soon as possible. But yes, everything is true," he says with a hard edge, as if he was trying not to growl the words out. "We have two months until they reach Alfheim."

My brows rose in surprise. "That long?"

Xaero shrugs. "Apparently, the Fallen do not travel through portals, planes, carriers, et cetera. They are foot soldiers of some sort."

"And you got this information where?"

He holds up one finger and walks to a group of Keepers. They all had tall and slender figures with a golden tan born from nothing but really good, magical genes. He approaches the one with hair the color of corn. She turns, revealing blue eyes that are a bit set apart, a prim nose, and full lips, and allows herself to be escorted to the table.

"Mistress," the girl greets with a curtsy.

"Anaïs, thank you for speaking with me."

She demures, insisting it is an honor to serve. "Captain Wysterra mentioned that you have questions about the Fallen. What do you wish to know?"

I am taken aback. I stare at the graceful Keeper with dubiousness and a slight bit of hope. "I—uh, don't have the time to get the whole story from you at the moment," I said rather lamely. I thought for a little while about how best I could get information on our enemies. "What should I know about them?"

Anaïs is quiet for a long while, her face blank and still slightly expectant, as if she was still waiting for my response. I raise my hand to touch her hand, but her body jerks a little, eyes snapping wider. They glow white for a second, before switching back to the same shade of blue.

I've experienced Keepers having visions in the middle of conversations, but they were mostly adolescents who only had little practice with controlling it.

Dear Ilyn, do I really seek answers from an untrained seer?

She blushes, a rosy undertone to her smooth skin. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I never got any better at handling my visions."

Xaero and I exchange quick looks. "That's… alright," I said begrudgingly.

Anaïs shakes her head a little. "Okay. To answer your question, Mistress, this is what I say: you cannot pass over facing the Fallen. They are an important foe you must come up against."

Xaero laughs. "You are speaking to the highest sorceress of this realm; she doesn't have to dace anybody. Over my dead—"

"What do you mean by 'important'?" I asked, ignoring Xaero.

Anaïs shrugs and I almost let it pass that even this action, done by her, seemed elegant. "That is not up to me for interpretation. We Keepers hold pieces of the past, never the full picuture—"

"—which basically means you're useless," Xaero mutters, grumbling.

"—but we do our best to guide people to fulfill their prophecies," she continues, followig my tactic of ignoring my cousin. "This has been eons in the making."

I stare at the golden girl, hearing the blood rush through my ears. The sound is so loud that I worry my eardrums might break. My hands have not stopped sweating since the mention of facing the Fallen, and the room has since refused to behave and stop spinning.

Do not get me wrong, I've known about the Celestial Prophecy, heard it through the years like some sort lf legend as have most people. In my head, it is a story, a potential epic that may or may not happen in my lifetime.

I haven't had the chance, nor the interest, to hear the full prophecy, but from what I've gathered, it speaks of a lone hero bearing precious blood that will save the magical race from a tragic and terrible war, caused by powers unlike our own.

My mother once said that the hero would spring from a lake of fire. Everyone pretty much said we would know if he or she has come. I mean, being born from fire? Wouldn't that be freakishly obvious?

I turn to look at Xaero who wore a similarly perplexed look on his face. "I wasn't born in a lake of fire, was I?" I asked, half-kidding.

With furrowed brows, he shakes his head 'no'. "You did kick the safila and make her nose bleed, however."

Anaïs blinks back to the present and laughs heartily. "Oh, my sister Jehanna Sighted that moment once in the middle of dinner. It made us all laugh."

"Anaïs, focus!" I snapped at her. "What do you mean when you say that the prophecy somehow involves me? As my cousin has said, I was not born from a lake of fire and I highly doubt that my blood is distinctive from that of another magical being."

The willowy creature only blinks at my outburst. I briefly planted my face in my hand, ignoring the looks that I could feel everyone in the hall was giving me. Their stares felt like tiny stabs of needles all across my body, attacking me in an unrelenting manner and with malicious intent.

Event though the feeling is only in my head, my eyes quickly dart over my bare arms just to check if I was physically unharmed. I sigh a tiny slip of breath in relief and finally watch those who are assembled.

Most of the delegates have been sent home, all with the instructions to make haste and prepare. Save for us and a few of the permanent staff, the Great Throne Hall is empty and almost barren. The banners from each kingdom have been stripped from the high, arched wall over the doors and replaced instead with a single, impressive tapestry. It is woven in gold and showed the unified sigils lf the Nine Kingdoms, as well as real-time video feeds within them.

Aside from the torches and naturalfloating orbs of light that provided warmth and illumination, there are not many decorations to feast your eyes on once the crowd has gone. My eyes stray to the portraits of the past Masters and Mistresses of the High Council. Immediately, my eyes catches sight of my mother and father, smiling proudly in static formation.

I shake my head. There is no use pining for them now.

The Masters of the Houses continue to begin settling down around the stone table, still discussing amongst themselves but not loud enough to be disrespectful.

For a moment, something seemed off with the picture I was seeing. I look at their clothes, and while traditional for their people and culture, there is none that spoke to me that may justify the impalpable feeling. It is not on their faces, nor in the inflection of their words. I look around the room, noting nothing significant, until I hear Xaero intrude telepathically on my unusual side-quest.

What's the matter?

I shake my head, a nonverbal sign that what I am up to does not concern him. I move to face him in his seat to my immediate right before I realized it.

Xaero sat on the stone chair looking as if ready to bolt out of it at any given moment. His eyes keep flickering back and forth between the only exit in the room and the golden tapestry above it. His hand is splayed in front of him on top of the the table, seeming relaxed, but not once did his other hand, the more dominant one, leave the holster where his wand is in.

As quick as lighting, it hit me.

None of the Masters' body language hinted at alarm, worry, or even discomfort. Save for Prince Avery, who looked severely out of place and miserable on between the Orc Chief and the Alpha of the Wolves, every one of them moved with languid ease.

And then, another realization hit me upside the head: I never learned how to preside over a war council. I have never even witnessed one happen!

Cousin, I whispered unto our telepathic link. Would you mind?

Xaero briefly glances up at me, seemingly communicating that I owed him, before standing to address everyone. "Shirath, my brethren. Important matters are still at hand."

The Keymaster of the Forges of Knowledge slowly rises from his seat beside Xaero who took his own. A large and heavy-looking amulet is hanging from his neck from a piece of thick leather string, setting just above his plump belly. Draped in blue robes and a white shawl that famed his equally plump face, Keymaster Atticus' presence commanded respect from the Masters.

As the leader of an entire kingdom of scholars and visionaries, there is little to none that the old Master knew about. Yes, even the dirty, dirty business, which is why the other Masters are so afraid to cross him.

"Mistress," he said slowly, as if age put him in a slower pace to preserve him. "I must say that as the Keymaster of the Forge of Knowledge, there is, regretfully, none in the entire Hold that can shed a light on the Fallen."

The news spark murmurs from the council and sinks my heart even further, even if I somehow already knew this to be true. It scares me even more to think thst after centuries and millenias of our existences as a race and our accumulated knowledge, no one ever bothered to report or live long enough and tell the tale that may give us an inkling on how to even fight the Fallen.

We might be walking into this blind, since the closest thing I have for an informant is Anaïs and she was a disappointment.

To make matters worse, the girl in question jolts up from her seat and indignantly slams her fist hard on the table. Idly, I wonder if the mason Orcs would give her a telling off later.

"That is because you refuse Keeper wisdom into your precious Hold!" Blue eyes angrily skim over the council before finally settling on me. "Mistress, the prophecy—"

The queen of the Merfolk sneers at Anaïs. "Oh, you and your people's prophecies! You keep handing them out like pamphlets! Why do you even keep on insisting such nonsense on us?"

"And why have I never heard of a prophecy about us?" Felix wondered aloud to no one in particular.

"Because the prophecy is true," said Peia Solaris, her twinkling voice pulling everybody out of their foul mood.

Elegantly, she stands. Strands of starlight glittered in her piled up, platinum blonde hair while her ivory robes shine brilliantly like a second moon.

The Children of the Light are a comparatively small race, even against the Keepers. They are protectors and healers who lived near the island of Alcalia, the home of the Elders, and who rarely messed with important executive decisions. Involving themselves now, to say the least, is surprising.

Peia Solaris gracefully inclines her head towards Felix who abruptly straightens up in his seat. "Prophecies come from the Oracle of Absolutes. You and your race are shapeshifters, and therefore are not absolute beings."

Felix's mouth forms an 'o' in understanding. I sit up. "Solaris, what do you know about the ancient prophecy?"

The Lady of the Children of the Light smiles, almost beatifically. "I know it quite well, Mistress. I am the one who delivered it to your ancestor."

Translations:

Safila - the midwife

Shirath - Attention