Tthor Prayer and the Orffelios' paila

1- The heir

To my dearest Melo, Gauchito Gil, Ana Gram and my Knights...

  

    The banshee dragged her gray cloak along the secret path. Her green dress seemed to be made of silver as the dim light of the full moon filtered through the birch trees and illuminated it at discontinuous intervals. His red eyes suddenly widened as he reached the edge of the cliff.

   A lake of still waters separated it from the abbey. Little could be seen of her, at that distance. Only some torches that flickered in the highest watchtowers made it stand out from the darkness of the night.

   The banshee sat cross-legged and rested her back against a dry log. As her eyes stared into the distance, another banshee approached from behind her with a silent step. She stayed at a safe distance and her eyes also turned in the direction of the fortress.

   "The big three of Heaven are already lined up...," said the oldest, taking something out of her clothes. "It's time to start, Bean."

   Bean then advanced a few more steps and sat down on a blackish rock and asked:

   "Which event will happen first, Aihbill?"

   "Everything will be simultaneous, that's how it is written. This December solstice will open the doors of a New Order. The heir will be born today, unless dark forces prevent it."'

   "The three bowls are ready, can we see everything that happens...?"

   "Not everything...," Aihbill replied, while she stirred the liquid in one of the containers with one of her long nails, which the other banshee had been preparing while she spoke. "Just as it is true that everything is written, so it is also true that Nobody knows what happens in the hearts of mortals. A single heartbeat from an ordinary human being can be enough to twist the claw that writes destinies."

   "But we cannot intervene, Aihbill, and you know it. We can only cry for the misfortune that will come."

   Aihbill did not answer. He took with his sharp fingers a small crimson bag hanging from his chest and opened it. A profuse aroma emanated from it that intoxicated the night air, along with dense white smoke that rose rapidly.

   He poured a little powder from the bag into each clay bowl and stirred with his slender fingers, until the mixtures turned into thick liquids. He closed his eyes, continuing to stir. He began to pronounce a few barely audible words, in a language reserved for a few initiates. And then the contents of the first vessel became cloudy and it began to boil; Immediately the liquids in the second and third bowls followed suit.

   Bean felt that the time had come. He stood up and, staring at the abbey on the other side of the lake, began to scream, one after another, each time higher and sharper, as the vessels began to vibrate and boil more.

   Aihbill then opened his eyes and looked at the liquids that were now beginning to change color: from jet black to blood red and then to golden yellow, all in a few seconds. And suddenly, reflected images appeared there. Still looking at the containers, Aihbill joined Bean in lamenting him.

   "The banshee are crying! " He said with terror one of the midwives who could be seen in one of the bowls.

   The image began to rise in the form of dense smoke until it became an oval mirror, but it did not reflect the banshee but instead showed a scene that was taking place at that moment in the fortress. A young woman could be seen, lying on a wide four-poster bed, in labor. Her face was tense and drenched in sweat. Her hands clung to the dark, blood-stained sheets and her heartbroken screams became more and more continuous.