A Tale of Crown and Country

Tavin

Grandfather had told him of the prophecy, the prophecy that even Grandfather didn't know when it had originated. As was tradition in the family–a tradition Tavin hadn't known existed until today–he had been told three weeks before his sixteenth birthday. Grandfather didn't know why they passed this information on, nor what they were supposed to do with it, only that they were the only ones who knew, and that they were to guard it with their lives, to pass it on to the next son, as had been done for generations before. But Tavin had a strange feeling that this time it was different. This time there was something tangible about the prophecy. This time it was about to come true.

    If one becomes three, and three mature, then will the third destroy the life-giver. But for the second to assist the third, the first must not be given. Grandfather had made him repeat again and again until he could recite it by heart. Heed these and Allriya's father will eternally survive.

    No one knew how long ago the prophecy had been born. Grandfather couldn't tell him, and so Tavin had invaded the few meagre ancestral journals lying around the house. Nothing answered his questions, and now he had even more: why a Reightneirian family? Why protect a secret prophecy from an Allriyan family? Why is it a secret? Why, why, why?

    Grandfather was useless with the answers. He was so distracted half the time he kept asking for his boots and an axe so he could go cut down the nearest tree for warmth. Mother had warned Tavin to keep an eye out for his grandfather who was on the verge of losing his mind, as Tavin put it. Except that when he had explained the prophecy, there was not a doubt in Tavin's mind that it was all true, that Grandfather was saner than he had been thirty years ago.

    But he brought himself back to the point: the prophecy. It was so vague, so unhelpful in its definition, so frustrating. And Tavin couldn't even ask Nasta for help. Nasta, who was the smartest and bravest person he knew, who could be trusted to keep a family secret seeing as she was family. But Grandfather had forbade it. And Tavin wasn't brave enough to break his grandfather's vow of secrecy.

    Annoying, sweet little Cathrinta had interrupted his readings so many times in his search for an answer, that Tavin had left the house, despite the chill in the air. As he kicked a pebble down the street, Tavin flipped the idea over in his mind: the prophecy. Since learning of it he had had a nagging feeling in his gut telling him it was important, that it was relevant. He had never had that feeling before. Other boys had told him about it, the feeling they got in the middle of a fight warning against incoming attacks or something of the case. But Tavin couldn't claim the feeling for himself having never been in such a fight, and, in fact, having avoided those situations at all cost. It wasn't that he wasn't brave–though he wasn't afraid to admit it might be a small factor–it was that he was too small. The other boys had pointed it out for years, so much so that he had begun to believe it. But it was true, he couldn't deny it. He was smaller than all the other boys. He was even smaller than his sister, Nasta.

    "What's that pebble ever done to you?" a sweet mocking voice asked.

    So absorbed by his own thoughts, Tavin nearly jumped at the sound. Taking a second to process the words, he smiled and looked over at the figure. It was Atryada. Tall, smart, kind, gorgeous Atryada.

    "I was just... thinking," he admitted.

    "What's got you so worked up, than?" she asked, joining him in the street. Tavin would have liked to take her arm, walk her down the street, but the thought filled him with anxiety, and he abandoned it. Besides, Atryada wore her dagger on her right side, and he on his left–it wouldn't have worked out anyway.

   "I can't tell you," he said.

    "Oh come on, Tavin. You can tell me anything." Her soft laugh was music to his ears. She was so damn convincing. He wanted to tell her everything just by the sound of her voice. The truth was bursting out of him: the prophecy, the family secret, the million and one questions. But he swallowed his earnestness and said the last words on his mind.

    "I can't."

    Atryada pouted.

    "I'm sorry. I would have loved to, but I really can't tell you."

    "Well Fenwur would be able to tell me," she said.

    Of course Fenwur had to show up now. Just my luck, Tavin thought. His guilt level went through the roof as he watched Atryada amble over to Fenwur. She leaned into him as she spoke in a hushed whisper. Just like she did with him. Just like she spoke with him. Tavin kicked at another stone.

    "Impy wimpy Tavin can't even tell a beautiful woman what's on his mind?" Fenwur said mockingly.

    Tavin swallowed his growing anger like Nasta had taught him. "I really can't," he grumbled.

    "And where were you off to, my fair lady?" he gave a bow to Atryada, who giggled and blushed.

    "Nowhere in particular," she said.

    "Then would Tavin mind if I took you all for myself this fine afternoon?"

    "I don't think he would mind, would you Tavin?"

    Tavin shook his head no and looked at his boots.

    "Very well, my fair lady, away we go." Fenwur took Atryada's arm and walked her down the street in the same direction Tavin had been going.

    "He would care very much, actually," he grumbled to himself. Scuffing his boots along the earthen street, Tavin turned around and headed back home. There was no point continuing, since he would either bump into Fenwur and Atryada again, or look like he was following them.

    The only positive of the encounter was all the questions flooding his mind had been extinguished for the time being. With his mind clear, Tavin could focus on other things, like the tiny sparkling pebble at his feet. He leaned over and picked it up. Turning it over in his fingers, he noticed if he could clean it up a bit it would most likely shine a little. Pocketing the stone, Tavin headed for home. With nothing but the new rock for his collection on his mind, Tavin didn't think about the prophecy, or Fenwur, or Atryada.