The Seer Page 9

  Chtomio’s words were as sharp as swords. “When we get back to Samaris, I’m going to make sure that awful hunt never takes place again. After I relieve you of your command.”

  “The truth is you will be the shortest-lived king in our history,” the captain said. He unsheathed his sword and his two soldiers did the same. “I’m sure you would’ve figured this out, soon enough. You’re a clever one, I’ll give you that,” he continued. “The Council saw your father’s death as an opportunity to infuse new blood into the monarchy, but they don’t have the guts to do it themselves, in Samaris. So they asked me to do their dirty work instead. Like I always do.”

  He urged his horse toward Chtomio. “But I will do this kill with pleasure. And I shall tell everyone that I found our poor prince, already dead, probably murdered by Black chromes. This way they can bury you and your father, together.”

  Chtomio unsheathed his sword.

  “Stupid pup!” Said the captain. “You think you can take me?”

  Instead of answering, Chtomio hurled his blade at the captain with all his might. It struck home and stabbed the traitor in his left arm. Then he turned his horse around and galloped back to the Seer’s temple.

  Sybilla heard her name echoing throughout the chasm.

  “Sybilla! Sybilla!”

  She instinctively sensed danger, but like any proud Orange sister, Sybilla was a hunter before she was a seer. And a hunter is never a prey. She ran inside the cave and fetched her bow and arrows. Then she hid behind one of the large pillars and took aim at the horsed chrome coming her way. Only it was… Chtomio!

  “Sybilla!” cried Chtomio. “They’re after me! Hide in the temple!”

  Sybilla saw the other three chasing Chtomio and was momentarily confused. Wasn’t he their king? What was happening?

  “Get down from your horse or I will make this more painful than you can imagine!” yelled the captain. “Your female friend won’t help you. She’s smart enough to know this doesn’t concern her.”

  In response, an arrow whizzed toward them and hit Finian in the neck. The Red chrome slid off his horse, dead before he hit the ground. The other guard also didn’t have the time to dodge a second arrow that pierced his armor and went right through his heart. In a surprising move, the captain jumped off his horse and quickly hid behind several rocks.

  “Sybilla!” shouted Chtomio. He began to run in her direction.

  “Don’t move!” she cried out from behind the pillar.

  “I made a mistake!” the captain yelled. “He’s an impostor! He killed the real Prince Chtomio and took his robes and mask. That’s why we came after him.”

  “That’s not true, Sybilla!” shouted Chtomio. He was standing in the middle of the chasm and felt like a sitting duck. On one side there was Sybilla with her bow and on the opposite side, hiding behind rocks, was the captain who was only waiting for the right moment to go after him.

  “Just let me take him back to Samaris!” yelled the captain to Sybilla. “The Council will decide who is lying and who isn’t! This is not your concern.”

  “He wants to kill me, Sybilla! Don’t listen to him!” cried Chtomio.

  “The Red Kingdom will be very grateful to you, Orange Seer!” shouted the captain. Sybilla noted, however, that his voice had changed direction. She couldn’t see where he was but he was clearly on the move. She looked around for anything that would give the Red chrome’s position away.

  “Can you see where he is, Chtomio?” she called.

  Chtomio shook his head. Then, moving slowly where the two dead soldiers lay on the ground, he said, “I’m going to take a sword.”

  “Don’t!” she ordered pointing an arrow towards him. “Stay where you are!”

  “Sybilla, you have to believe me!” pleaded Chtomio.

  But she didn’t know whether she could trust him or not. What if he had lied to her? The heart deceives what the sight receives. How ironic that her brain should conjure up one of her own false predictions in her own time of need, she thought.

  “Sybilla, look out!” Chtomio yelled.

  Sybilla felt as if a boulder had landed on her back and sent her sprawling onto the ground. But this rock had arms and legs. It was the captain, who had quickly and silently moved behind the rocks and had reached Sybilla from behind. The captain grabbed her weapons and she felt another sharp pain as a large hand pulled her hair so hard, she thought her neck was going to snap and break. She felt a cold blade below her chin and knew she was going to die.

  At that moment, she heard a loud thump. Chtomio had thrown a rock with great aim at her attacker, hitting him on his head. The captain let go of Sybilla’s hair and she twisted out of his grasp. She ran towards Chtomio and he embraced her tight, as if this was the most natural thing for him to do. She closed her arms around him and buried her head in his chest. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be,” he whispered, “I owe you my life.”

  “I owe you mine,” she told him.

  “Come on, Your Majesty! Let’s see what you’ve got!” The challenge came from the captain as he struggled to his feet. He shook his head to clear it and then advanced on them like a beast intent on cornering its prey. Chtomio still held the sword firmly in his hand. “You nobles are all worthless. If it was up to me, I’d kill you all!” The captain spat.

  Chtomio didn’t speak. His eyes were focused on the captain. On his wounded arm. He was bigger and taller than Chtomio, but Chtomio’s body was as agile as a cat’s.

  The captain unsheathed a war hammer and took a good swing, but Chtomio was quick enough to dodge the blow. “You will die today, Chtomio,” he hissed. The captain made a second lunge and this time Chtomio barely dodged the blunt iron head of the weapon. His sword caught the war hammer handle but the captain easily deflected the blow, knocking Chtomio off balance. He fell and lost his sword.

  “See how easy it was?” the captain guffawed. He flipped his war hammer around and aimed its deadly pommel spike at the Prince. Then he advanced again, determined to run Chtomio through.

  Chtomio’s anger tore through him faster than a lightning strike. He would not die today, regardless of what the gods had decided. His fists clenched dry rusty earth. Just as the captain hunkered back to stab him, Chtomio threw the dust at his mask. For one brief moment, the captain’s hammer vacillated in the air, granting Chtomio the seconds he needed to kick his opponent in the stomach and topple him. Chtomio quickly grabbed his sword and bore down on the Captain with all his weight.

  “Aaaahhh!” His battle cry reverberated with the untamed anger of his eighteen solstices. He felt his sword plunge all the way through the captain’s chest, scraping his ribs, and ripping open a gaping hole in the traitorous chrome’s back. The captain’s body jerked and twisted beneath him. He waited until the captain was still before rising, his energy spent. His hands were full of blood but he remained surprisingly calm. He had killed with a coldness he did not realize he possessed, until now.

  Sybilla came close and they both stared at the body on the ground. “I don’t understand. Why were they after you?” she asked.

  “Evidently some red nobles didn’t like me, or my father,” he said still shocked for what had just happened.

  “What will you do now?”

  “Return to Samaris,” he answered resolutely, “bury my father, and then destroy the Council for starters.”

  Sybilla nodded. How stupid of her to even think that… that…

  “But I can’t go back alone,” added Chtomio. “I need someone by my side; someone who is not afraid; someone that can take risks…”

  “What kind of risks?”

  “All sorts, but most importantly the risk of being queen to chromes of a different color.”

  Sybilla felt a sudden warmth tinge her cheeks. “You know different colors can’t mingle,” she said.

  “Then why is it that the Orange mix with the Yellow? What’s the di
fference?”

  Such a simple question, and yet she didn’t know the answer. It was funny how she had never questioned this age old custom herself. Yet, notwithstanding this, she wanted to give him a thousand reasons why it would never work between them and yet all she could think of - all she could feel - was that being with Chtomio was the only thing that mattered to her. Even more than being a Seer.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” She asked, “An odd prophetess as your companion?”

  “No,” he replied, “not an Orange Seer, but a new Red Queen.”

  “This way you will deceive your subjects. And I no longer want to deceive anyone.”

  “My subjects already live in a kingdom of deceit. The more I live, the more I see that it is spreading like a disease. It is not we two that are in the wrong, Sybilla. It’s everything else that feels wrong. And we need to change that, not us.”

  As she looked at him, she knew that her heart had already said yes the first moment she’d laid eyes on him. Also, the powerful truth of his words was something she had known since she was young, but had failed to articulate until now. All this time she thought she had outsmarted her fate, but in reality it was the other way around. She felt the earth slip out from under her but Chtomio’s strong arms grabbed her before she fell.

  “Are you alright?” he asked, worried.

  “Yes. For the first time in my life, I truly am alright.”

  They both removed their masks and their kiss became as urgent as life itself.

  49. A Dance Of Colors

  “Before Sybilla rode off with Chtomio, she left a cryptic message for the Orange sisters to choose a new Seer, for she had been taken up by the goddesses to dwell with them.” Thalassino chuckled. Now he was done with his story and tired from its telling.

  “What did you think of my history lesson, Cestia?” He asked. “Had your father told you nothing about his past?”

  I kept my mouth shut. Since I was more familiar with Cestia’s temperament than Thalassino, I knew she would need time to absorb what Danayd’s lover had just revealed. Her expression betrayed her true emotions, but her voice was cold as ice when, in an attempt to avoid the truth, she spoke in an accusatory manner: “What are you saying, Thalassino, that my father had an Orange lover before meeting my mother?”

  “No, I’m saying that Sybilla was your mother.”

  “Nonsense! My mother’s name was Ceicnei and she certainly wasn’t an Orange.”

  “Your mother changed her name before setting foot in Red territory. Just like your father changed his name from Chtomio to Quadrio because of the crown.”

  She looked at him and then looked at me. She whispered, “I can’t believe this, Asheva…”

  “It’s hard for me to believe as well,” I commented, “Just as much as it’s hard to believe that Danayd was a Red. How did he manage to be accepted by the Violets as their leader?”

  “I told you, Danayd is a chameleon,” replied Thalassino. “But that’s another story entirely.”

  “Now I understand why Ewy wanted me to be their guiding sister,” Cestia said, still reflecting on Sybilla’s story. “And it must be why my father brought me to the temple of the Orange after my mother died.”

  “Yes,” said Thalassino “Your father was very fond of your mother and he suffered a lot when she passed away. He often told my Magnificent that his queen was like a blood orange — orange on the outside and red within — the most precious of fruits.”

  “How do you know all this?” she asked him.

  “Chtomio and Danayd remained good friends throughout their lives. And the fact that both became leaders of two great nations only strengthened their ties.” He responded. Then, turning to me, he said: “That’s why Chtomio brought you into the Violet territory after your escape from Ayas. He knew you’d be safe there, among friends. And that’s why we knew all about you before you even set foot in Papylia.”

  “So it turns out, that in these woefully divided territories of ours, the Collective Laws have been written… only to be discarded,” I mused. “The previous Red queen was an Orange, the ruler of the Violets is a Red, and Cestia is half Orange. I wouldn’t be surprised if we discover that the Green are Black!”

  “The Green aren’t Black, my Harlequin friend,” replied Thalassino, “but there is one Black that isn’t Black at all, in this dance of colors we’ve been compelled to perform.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The son of Adina, the Red Janis… Nomius!”

  *********

  The stage is set for the final showdown in Axyum where good and evil will blend just like the colors of the Territories! Don’t miss Book 6, the final book of The Red Harlequin Series! Coming soon!

  About The Author

  Roberto Ricci is a fiction writer of short stories, novels and screenplays. He has been amongst other things a journalist, an officer in the Italian Army and a Senior Executive in a children’s entertainment company. He has attended NYU and the European Business School and has lived in Tokyo, New York, Rome, Milan, Paris and London. He is represented by the Koko Media Agency in London.

  The following books are also available from the same author:

  The Red Harlequin Graphic Novels

  The graphic novel adaptation of the best selling fantasy series is finally here! The first two volumes of the graphic novel series are already on sale.

  Volume 1 The Black Nation

  Volume 2 The Wheel of Chance

  2016: Stories From The Near Future

  A collection of short stories from the not too distant future.

  What if social networks suddenly turned from inclusive to exclusive? Where is all the huge amount of data that we produce daily going to be stored? Will we become virtually eternal? All this and more in 2016! A humorous (and slightly dark) view of the year ahead!

  Parablu

  Level 10

  Sweet Dreams Inc.

  In the year 2016…

  …Anamast, a leading Search Engine Corporation, will sponsor an innovative virtual school program for children of all ages. But alas, innovation does not come without minor collateral damages. Fortunately Anamast will have a solution for that too: a blue liquid called Parablu.

  …All social networks will merge into one and become known as Society. Society will stop being inclusive and start being exclusive. Users will be associated with a Level to define their personal and professional status. Changing one’s profile will become almost impossible unless you are able to take part in the nation’s favorite game show: Level 10.

  … Sweet Dreams Inc. will be the market leader for “virtual transfers”, consisting in the physical termination of human beings and in the migration of their existence onto the corporation’s servers, making their customers virtually yours, forever.

  The Return

  Daniel is an American expat living in Italy. After a business deal gone sour, he loses himself in the Italian Summer where he will confront his past and find the way to make amends with his present. The Return takes the reader on an emotional road trip from Milan to Florence to Spoleto through the critical and passionate eye of its author.

  Game Theory - Level 1

  John Di Garda, an American residing in London, has just lost his job. Reading through the paper, he is intrigued by a curious ad:

  Volunteers wanted for an alternate reality experiment.

  The most intense, real life game experience you will ever have.

  Ready to play?

  John is ready to play but as he soon discovers, the game he will play, is one between life and death.

  From a bomb scare near Buckingham Palace, for which he will be the prime suspect, to the kidnapping of his girlfriend, John begins to unfold a surreal world which seems to rotate all around him.

  Game Theory. Let the game begin.

  Copyright

  © 2017 Roberto Ricci

  Published by Pantomimus Media Ltd.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains materia
l protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art and illustrations by Pascal Demure