Shaman

The Prophercy

Hey Guys, sorry it took so long uploading, this is one of the two chapters that will be up before I take a long break from writing. Its exams soon so I have to study, but once it's over, ill make it up to you with 3 chapters uploaded all in a row!!!... So, on with the story

Zahara sat at the foot of her Queen-sized, mahogany base, green blanket covered bed, staring at the four beige walls of her small compartment in the servants subdivision of the Palace. Her wolf Lelou sat at her feet, greatly matured over eight years, growing into a good thirty-five kilograms, he developed into a strong, fierce-looking beast with cut-throat sharp teeth and piercing red eyes, who would do anything to protect Zahara and the village. The Elders had insisted she take him along with her to work, stating that Zahara might get into trouble, and that Lelou would protect her. Zahara worked at the palace for many years now, she knew the Prince as well as she knew how to evoke the ancestors. He was indeed cruel, selfish, manipulative and absolutely evil, but he never harmed her, he needed her after all. Still, it was nice to have someone around who reminded her of home.

Zahara shifted her weight on the edge of the bed. Although it was extremely comfortable, and extremely out of the reach of her riches. She would always prefer the itchy, uncomfortable bear-skin draped around three chunks of cow-hide that she refered to as her bed, surrounded by the one round, brown wall of her hut. Waking up to the familiar, pleasing smell of broth being prepared for breakfast, greeted by the loving smiles of the two people she loved the most. Zahara sighed deeply and patted Lelou affectionately on the head. She missed them. Two weeks, to a mother, is two centuaries if she were kept against her will, in a cold, menacing palace, miles and miles away from her daughters. She couldn't bear being away from them for so long. It was one of the most unimaginable tortures, not being able to feel them in her arms, to smell the citrin fragrance of their hair, to bathe in the ringing laughter emitting from their mouths. She could only wonder as to what they were up to now, how they were, if they were being taken care of, if they ate properly, if they were getting enough sleep. Zahara wanted to scream out in unknowing frustration.

She arrived in the palace of Dehlysia two weeks ago, and it was always for the same purpose: To aid the Prince in fighting the war. A war in which was in fact started by the Prince, after Messeline had struck gold, literally. The wealth that the country had obtained was unimaginable, and the Prince wanted that wealth all for himself. So Drako, thick with greed, had launched an immediate attack on the main palace. Fortunatly for the Messelines, King Lionel III, the Monarch of Messeline, was sharp enough to see it coming and counteracted the attack onto Dehlysia before they even reached Messeline's Great Walls. That attack had occurred eleven years ago, and Drako was never a creature to give up. She knew from experience that once the Prince had his eye on something, he would never rest until it was solely his.

She spent her first whole week in the Palace, prophersizing attacks. Staring into a large Porceline bowl, which was in most cases utterly useless, since scrying could only be done in a place of Holy ground, not the cold floors of the menancing, sick Fortress where countless people have been slaughtered by the Prince and his men. Yet she prayed that Mono give her something, anything to satisfy the prince and let her be. Whatever she saw, images, dates, attack formations, weapons, she would report to Drako, and he would then stratergize his own formations, weapons and soldiers, before going off to battle and, thanks to Zahara, return victorious every time. But her last few days were different. The Prince was planning to launch his final attack, and kill King Lionel III, his army had been training relentlessly, Zahara would spend hours a night, trying to recieve as much visions as possible so he may return victorious for the final time, and finally leave her at peace in her village..

Zahara sat up and coughed, it started small, but the coughs grew, and soon she was heaving, her hand against her chest, rolling on the bed. Lelou sat up, and stared at his master in worry, he growled. After a few moments Zahara calmed down and took a few deep breaths. She didn't know what was wrong with her, this strange cough. At first, she dismissed it as a flew, but soon they became much worse. Zahara was started to think she had been struck with the plague.