grab her wolfskin and taking the time to compose herself. It would not do to let the others glimpse her conflicted emotions – the excitement and the fear. She passed by the bedroom on her way back to Teodore, and considered briefly entering. Of going to her mother and embracing her.
Lamara convinced herself that it would be best not to disturb her again – she needed her rest – but a deeper truth insisted something else. She did not want to meet that accusing gaze again. Promise me you will not go!
Stepping out of the hut, the cold wind stung Lamara’s face. She drew the wolfskin tightly around her and followed Teodore down the winding path. Their home lay on the slope of the mountain, positioned back from a flat piece of rocky earth that jutted out over the valley. Just over the lip of the shelf, rows upon rows of treetops poked up at the crimson sky like arrowheads. In the distance the sun glared malevolently over the craggy peaks of the mountain range, like an eye filled with blood.
Her gaze was still fixed on the red sun – a bad omen if ever she read one – when she finally saw the results of Teodore’s labour. Lamara’s breath caught in her throat. The portal was precisely as she remembered it, so much so that she had to blink several times before her mind was convinced it was real, and not the stuff of dreams. Twelve feet high, Teodore had constructed the two concentric granite rings precisely as she’d drawn them in the clay. The runes chiselled into the rings were the same as the ones she held in her mind, the same ones that had haunted her dreams since that day when the farseer had disappeared. The central black disc was now in position. It had taken the acolytes many months to source this last piece, and more than once Lamara found herself cursing the men who had destroyed the original portal, fearing that she might never gather the materials necessary to re-create it. But no, here it was, standing against the darkening sky just as it had before.
Teodore’s three apprentices – Dermid, Gula and Rais – stood a good distance back, regarding the portal fearfully. They had not yet passed the necessary rituals to become acolytes, and if the tentativeness written across their features now was any clue, she doubted they ever would. Some men were not meant to witness miracles.
‘Does it please you, Farseer?’ Teodore said, watching her nervously from beneath his thick, stone-dusted eyebrows.
Lamara smiled at him, feeling a little breathless. ‘Yes. Very much so. You have surpassed my expectations. I am deeply grateful.’
At her words, Teodore’s anxious expression relaxed and a smile creased his careworn features. ‘I would do anything you asked of me.’
Lamara reached out and touched his arm. ‘I know, Teodore.’
Their eyes locked briefly, but in that short time Lamara could see a life with this strong, quiet man. Both of them could leave their responsibilities behind. Travel to the west where the sun was lower in the skies and the ground fertile. It would be a happy life, one where she could be a mother, a wife. The farseer no longer.
His mouth worked as though he was trying to say something further, but a noise in the distance distracted them both, ruining the fragile moment. There were horses approaching.
Frowning, she and Teodore turned to see five men wrapped in black cloaks come riding around the bend. Her eyes narrowed in irritation when she saw who led them. It was Ufgar’s successor, Valloch, the high priest.
Valloch had always resented Lamara’s standing in the village, believing that he, and only he, was worthy of speaking for the gods. She suspected he secretly coveted her title as farseer. The scornful way he spoke of her youth and inexperience in the village meetings left little doubt that he felt he was a much more suitable candidate. The village had chosen her though, their decision based on her history with the previous farseer and her undeniable talent for scrying and
Lamara convinced herself that it would be best not to disturb her again – she needed her rest – but a deeper truth insisted something else. She did not want to meet that accusing gaze again. Promise me you will not go!
Stepping out of the hut, the cold wind stung Lamara’s face. She drew the wolfskin tightly around her and followed Teodore down the winding path. Their home lay on the slope of the mountain, positioned back from a flat piece of rocky earth that jutted out over the valley. Just over the lip of the shelf, rows upon rows of treetops poked up at the crimson sky like arrowheads. In the distance the sun glared malevolently over the craggy peaks of the mountain range, like an eye filled with blood.
Her gaze was still fixed on the red sun – a bad omen if ever she read one – when she finally saw the results of Teodore’s labour. Lamara’s breath caught in her throat. The portal was precisely as she remembered it, so much so that she had to blink several times before her mind was convinced it was real, and not the stuff of dreams. Twelve feet high, Teodore had constructed the two concentric granite rings precisely as she’d drawn them in the clay. The runes chiselled into the rings were the same as the ones she held in her mind, the same ones that had haunted her dreams since that day when the farseer had disappeared. The central black disc was now in position. It had taken the acolytes many months to source this last piece, and more than once Lamara found herself cursing the men who had destroyed the original portal, fearing that she might never gather the materials necessary to re-create it. But no, here it was, standing against the darkening sky just as it had before.
Teodore’s three apprentices – Dermid, Gula and Rais – stood a good distance back, regarding the portal fearfully. They had not yet passed the necessary rituals to become acolytes, and if the tentativeness written across their features now was any clue, she doubted they ever would. Some men were not meant to witness miracles.
‘Does it please you, Farseer?’ Teodore said, watching her nervously from beneath his thick, stone-dusted eyebrows.
Lamara smiled at him, feeling a little breathless. ‘Yes. Very much so. You have surpassed my expectations. I am deeply grateful.’
At her words, Teodore’s anxious expression relaxed and a smile creased his careworn features. ‘I would do anything you asked of me.’
Lamara reached out and touched his arm. ‘I know, Teodore.’
Their eyes locked briefly, but in that short time Lamara could see a life with this strong, quiet man. Both of them could leave their responsibilities behind. Travel to the west where the sun was lower in the skies and the ground fertile. It would be a happy life, one where she could be a mother, a wife. The farseer no longer.
His mouth worked as though he was trying to say something further, but a noise in the distance distracted them both, ruining the fragile moment. There were horses approaching.
Frowning, she and Teodore turned to see five men wrapped in black cloaks come riding around the bend. Her eyes narrowed in irritation when she saw who led them. It was Ufgar’s successor, Valloch, the high priest.
Valloch had always resented Lamara’s standing in the village, believing that he, and only he, was worthy of speaking for the gods. She suspected he secretly coveted her title as farseer. The scornful way he spoke of her youth and inexperience in the village meetings left little doubt that he felt he was a much more suitable candidate. The village had chosen her though, their decision based on her history with the previous farseer and her undeniable talent for scrying and
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