Harken

Chapter 3

The horizon was a rosy pink, the sun a golden orb rising from its depths. Harken's mind had been deep in thought since the dream, drenched in sweat but still whirring away at the intrusive question: how to find the other? The man-boy must have appeared for a reason and if it was what needed to be done, he would do it. The guard outside knocked thrice: breakfast was here.
******
Nekrah paced into the chamber, and slammed the heavy door behind him. "What did it mean? Why did I see it?" he yelled at the recipient of his fury. But yet she sat calmly, her milky lavender eyes meeting his in a silent stare. She exhaled. "Dearest Nekrah, do listen to me. For I can see everything you cannot see. The angel had come, and he's here for your blood. You are the ruler, but your reign is done." She turned away from him to open a small ceramic jar, and pull out a bundle of herbs. Nekrah retorted: "Do not speak to me in riddles, Jainko. You know I can dispose of you just like I did the others". She smirked. "Dear Nekrah, you cannot. You enjoy what I have got. I tell you the truth, and not a lie or a ruse". She lit the incense stick and waved it around, the bitter smell clouding around her in pale grey mist. "If you want to me to, I can easily show you", then her eyes erupted in blinding purple light and her head snapped back to look at him. A deeper voice rose from her throat. "That boy will murder you, dash out your brains and leave you to rot. Your power will come crumbling down, but the empire will not. He will take control, like he always will. It all starts with an easy kill" it mused as it stared deep into his brain, further than he himself could look. Nekrah pivoted and marched away, disturbed by the oracle's words.
******
The birds flitted outside the small window, circling in the air. They danced so free, Harken thought, tumbling through the air with speed and dodging each other at the same time. One was on his windowsill, a cuckoo, and it serenaded him with its birdsong, even if it was rather out of tune. But the bird appeared to be urgently worried, shuffling from foot to foot and giving him a nervous side eye. Maybe he was the anxious one and the bird had no part in his inner feelings, or maybe it did and it represented his soul's inner turmoil. Maybe he was overthinking and it meant nothing at all, since he did have a rather bad headache. That was until he saw the scroll on its left claw, slightly unravelled but intact. He eased it off, the bird retreating to the sky with one last warning call. He unravelled it: the pain in your head isn't natural. I need to talk to you, meet me in the water garden tonight. He hadn't told anyone about the pain. It clawed at his being everyday and caused him more grief every minute. He'd taken drugs and medicine and all sorts but it hadn't died down. It just hummed like a machine. Maybe this mystery person knew of it; maybe it was the man-boy. And if it was then he might have more allies than enemies. Behind him, the roses were wilting.